


Märchen: Wieder Geboren

by Labyrinth1n3



Category: South Park
Genre: Adventure, Drama, Multi, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 21:09:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/423229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Labyrinth1n3/pseuds/Labyrinth1n3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric finds himself at odds when he's forced to decide between fulfilling one of his childhood dreams or pursuing a very vulnerable Kyle who is determined to fight for his independence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Once Upon A Time

  
Warning: This story deals with neo-nazi and racist concepts. Some terms will be used that may be offensive to some readers.

* * *

 

 _Thirty-five years ago today_ Howard Cartman, founder of an enormous region-wide hate group, was sentenced to a 35 year imprisonment for crippling the WWII veteran Marvin Marsh. Unbeknownst to anyone in South Park, his followers began rebuilding his neo-Nazi army in Nebraska while he sat in the state prison. Now that he was free, he had some fish to fry: the people responsible for his incarceration.  
  
"So what’s first on the agenda? Are you going back to Colorado to seek out your revenge?" Mel Herzeleid, one of Howard Cartman's confidants, asked as they approached a waiting limousine. Mel, along with many other wealthy and influential natives of Nebraska, honored Howard Cartman as a figurehead for their cause. They wanted to see action again, but they didn't want their names tarnished. Howard had nothing to lose, so the others were more than happy to let him risk his neck in place of theirs. There was a reason his release hadn't been well publicized: his influential followers made sure that the media wasn't there to capture their faces.  
  
"I have no reason to go back up there," Howard lied, trying to gauge his follower’s reaction. He was aware that the members of his NeoNazi movement had gathered at the old meeting place and were expecting a hate-filled speech about his revival of the party, but the knowledge of their adoration wasn’t good enough. He wanted to see with his own eyes just how desperate they all were for his return.  
  
"Like hell you have no reason to go back up there! Think of all those betrayers living the life you've dreamed about! Living in a free America while you've been living in squalor!" one member spoke out, growing angry as he caught up with the brooding Howard Cartman. "Look, we understand that you want to settle back into what you're familiar with but-"  
  
"What I'm familiar with?” Howard cut him off, growing more irritated by the second until he punched his follower clean in the jaw. "What the fuck do you know about 'familiar'? I'm tired! My 'familiar' is waking up in a cell every day and dreaming about a world where defending a White America isn't a criminal offense!"  
  
The old man hadn’t felt this rejuvenated in quite some time. The punch had sent a welcoming shot of adrenaline up his spine, but he still wasn’t done milking his contributors for all they were worth. “I'm not going to be the front man of this scene anymore. I'm done."  
  
Now there were blank expressions all around him. His followers were shocked. All they'd worked for, maintaining the troupes while their leader was in jail, destroyed.  
  
One of them tried to stop Howard as he continued to walk towards the limo. "That dream can still come true! We are here to help you! Leading the group doesn't take much effort; we only need your charisma, and you can still rest an-"  
  
Howard shoved him to the ground. "Not much effort? You men clearly don't remember what I went through when Liane moved to Colorado. I'm done leading. I'm retiring. And that's final."  
  
The men were left standing behind him, disillusioned and desperate.  
  
"Get in the limo, I'm still talking to my people," Howard spoke up once he got inside, handing his crutch to one of his henchmen. His leg had become stiff during the past five years of his incarceration, but no one had even noticed his limp at first due to their excitement.  
  
Once his henchmen joined him in the limo, they began their journey back to the little Nebraskan town where the Cartman family was regarded as redneck,  racist, neo-Nazi royalty.  Howard Cartman was not educated, good looking, nor rich, but he sure as hell knew how to rile up a crowd. He had such a powerful draw that newcomers found themselves wanting to be a part of his cause after a single meeting. He gained followers wherever he went: Oklahoma, Texas, Colorado, and even in prison. They all had faith that once he was released the movement would start up again, but they had no idea Howard would retire so soon. Inside the limo, the contributors were quickly becoming nervous wrecks.  
  
"What are you planning to tell them? That it's over? Their numbers have grown, Howard! Your word has reached the newer generation and now they're convinced that the country needs immediate cleansing as well," one of the other associates spoke out.  
  
"Newer generations,” Howard chortled. “Do you honestly believe that I can talk to these newer generations with their Internet and technologically-oriented brains? My methods are old, outdated. Stormfront or whatever… that's how they'll communicate now. They don't need these meetings, not when they can hide away in anonymity. The only way that they'll come now is if they relate to their leader. They can't relate to me.”  
  
One member argued, "This has nothing to do with relating to you! They WORSHIP yo-"  
  
Howard dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Yeah, and once they realize that I'm old and dried up they'll denounce me."  
  
The other men in the limo were silent. What they thought was going to be a joyful and righteous occasion was now looking like the final hour. They had little time left to sway their leader’s position now that the limo was fast approaching the massive gathering grounds. All of the members, their numbers in the hundreds, were waiting in the cramped main hall. While his incarceration had been terrible for his health, it had made Howard into a martyr. He smiled, and started to hum. He was home. Finally home.  
  
The driver stopped in front of the complex and the contributors got out of the car first. Howard had informed his men that no one was to be waiting for him outside the complex; he was in no state to be mobbed like some kind of celebrity. Because no one was outside, the grounds were eerily quiet like the calm before a storm.  
  
Inside the main hall, someone informed the host of their leader’s arrival. The crowd was growing restless so the contributors rushed Howard to the backstage.  
  
Once everyone was in position, the host addressed the audience: "Fellow reichsmen and women, I give you, the honorary Howard Cartman."  
  
The curtain parted, and Howard appeared. People went crazy. Some even cried. To some members, it was as though Jesus Christ himself had risen from the dead and was once again walking amongst them to save them all.  
  
Howard was going to miss this power, but his decision to retire was final. The letter had been sent before he even left the penitentiary.  
  
At the podium, he gazed into the audience and then looked to the mezzanine. He remembered commissioning the carved woodwork with the familiar eagles, swords, and swastikas when this place originally opened up - all done for free of course, all for the righteous cause. Red banners lined the aisles tying all of his fans together: One People, One Nation, One Leader.  
  
His speech then materialized in the old man’s head, as flawless as though he’d been practicing it for the past 35 years.  
  
"My fellow visionaries, my family, my people. Words cannot describe the vast amount of emotions I am feeling right now as I look at all of your adoring faces. Among them are faces I lovingly remember and many new faces I do not remember, but all are faces I will forever remember even after I now announce, albeit with a heavy heart, my immediate resignation as head of this organization."  
  
Cries echoed throughout the arena, but Howard kept talking.  
  
"Yes, it is true. I am stepping down as the head of this amazing group. But I know my people, and I love my people, and I know what they want to see in a leader. I too know what it takes to be a leader, and I know that true leaders are born with their talents. They have it in their blood, true Aryan blood. The purest blood there is..."

He paused, letting his words sink into the consciousness of his audience before landing the final blow...  
  
"My Blood."

 

* * *

 

 ** Thanks to both my lovely RP Partner PrincessBelle212 and Lethargy for being my beta's and helping me edit this whole story!** ** Also, big thanks to TerryxRage who has graciously corrected my German text!  **


	2. Greedy Cats and Helpless Mice

"I fell in love with her this summer, Ken," Cartman confessed to his best friend. He had decided to go over to Kenny's house so his mom wouldn't see him so bent out of shape. Luckily, Kenny had just come back from dying and did not have Kyle over.  
  
Kenny nodded and explained patiently, “Eric, to be honest it wouldn't have worked out.  She thinks you’re disgusting."  
  
"Heh, that would have been the case back in May. But this summer, we connected. Wendy and I were the only ones chosen to go on this National Debate Team summer trip, so we learned a lot about each other and-" Cartman stopped. "I totally fell for her… THAT FUCKING JACK ASS!" He abruptly rose from his chair, his face turning red from shouting.  
  
Kenny eyed him nervously, not wanting to say anything to enrage him further. Cartman was unpredictable when he was mad, truly frightening. He certainly wasn't a pushover anymore. As he grew in width, his sadistic side grew with him. In middle school, Kenny had spotted him torturing small animals and setting them on fire. He had also noticed that Cartman had a lot of snuff pornography and more and more Nazi propaganda in his room.  
  
"Er verdient sie nicht. Ich bin der, der sie mehr als jeder andere liebt. (He doesn't deserve her. I love her more than anyone)," Cartman despaired.  
  
Kenny perked up. Cartman only spoke German when he was either mad as hell, horny as fuck, or abnormally heartbroken. It was a coping device for him. This time? He knew it was heartbreak, so he crossed over to Cartman and sat down next to him.  
  
"It's going to be okay Eric. I mean she was your opposite! Why did you fall in love with her anyway? You hated her; you thought she was the biggest bitch in the world," Kenny joked, trying to make light of the situation.  
  
Cartman laughed sardonically. "I guess I have a tendency to fall for the people I hate."  
  
"Yeah I guess you-" Kenny stopped and then came to a repulsive but genius idea.  
  
"What?" Cartman looked back over to Kenny, noticing his pause.  
  
Kenny deliberated over his next sentence. He didn't want to hurt Kyle, and letting Cartman know about Kyle's current situation could hurt him in more ways than one. But Kenny knew about San Francisco and all of the times Cartman snuck into Kyle's room at night - Butters couldn’t keep a secret to save his life.  
  
Needless to say, Kenny also knew about Cartman's deep and frightening obsession with his favorite redheaded friend. But he also knew about his love of cats and his beloved Clyde Frog. Maybe one day Kyle would join those ranks in Cartman's perverted little heart if he took the chance. He considered the possibility of Cartman  changing his ways if it meant he could have Kyle all to himself.  Even though the idea of sacrificing Kyle to Cartman’s whims terrified him, Kenny had some faith in his estranged friend.  
  
"You know, there was someone else who was hurt pretty bad when Stan asked out Wendy."  
  
Cartman rolled his eyes. "Oh please, Kenny. Don't set me up with some girl that wanted to bang Stan. I can't compare with… that…" He stuttered when he realized that he was about to insult himself.  
  
His eyes expanded, almost sharklike. "Mutterficker…"  
  
Kenny gulped. "Well, that's not really it…"  
  
"Was ist es denn? (What is it then?)" Cartman's eyes panned back to Kenny. He was ready to leave. Cartman had a lot of Rammstein to listen to and along with it, plenty of rage-filled masturbation. It was going to be one of those nights.  
  
The blond froze. He knew Cartman was in no mood to fuck around. There was no telling what he could do to Wendy or Stan in a fit of sexually frustrated anger. Kenny was certainly not going to put either of them in that sort of danger. There was only one person on Earth that Kenny knew Cartman would never kill on a whim. The one person that gave Cartman any sort of purpose in life.  
  
"It wasn't a girl, Cartman. Think about it, who loved Stan more than anyone else in the world? Who would be hurt most by this betrayal?"  
  
Cartman's eyes lit up dramatically.  He looked reborn, as if this whole Wendy thing had never even happened. This was his chance to finally bring his nemesis to a whole new level of pain and suffering.  
  
"Nein…" he muttered. He'd had his suspicions that Stan and Kyle were fucking behind everyone's backs, but he hadn’t really believed it.  
  
"Well…" Kenny backtracked hastily. "I mean, it's not like they were going ou-" He choked, suddenly finding himself pinned against the wall and fighting for breath.  
  
"DON'T LIE TO ME, ASSHOLE!" Cartman's eyes were on fire, and his grip squeezed away all the air left in Kenny’s lungs. He whispered dangerously, "You will tell me everything about Stan and Kyle's secret little affair. If you lie, and I can tell if you do, Ich töte dich ohne eine reifliche Überlegung! (I will kill you without a second thought!)"  
  
Kenny nervously confirmed Cartman’s beliefs, but then he added how Stan dumped Kyle this summer because he was scared off by a hate crime in Littletown. He knew Cartman wouldn't kill his favorite Jew, but he also knew Kyle couldn’t take Cartman’s abuse in his current abysmal state. If Kyle found out that Cartman was aware of both his homosexuality and his relationship with Stan, he’d probably keel over and die.  
  
“So I've been trying to help Kyle this summer with his depression,” Kenny said hastily, trying to salvage Kyle’s safety. “I thought that maybe you could help him because you seem to-"  
  
"So that's it!" Cartman cut him off. "Kyle's dreams have been shattered and now he's a pathetic snotrag! I win!" He let go of Kenny and started to laugh. "Ah... I… I can't believe it!" he sputtered out. "Ich habe gewonnen! (I won!)"  
  
Kenny growled, frustrated. "Remember, fatass, just five seconds ago you were crying about Wendy dumping your sorry ass! I don't think you've 'won' anything!"  
  
"That's different, Ken!" He continued laughing as he explained, "she would have never loved me! Stan LOVED Kyle! And now he doesn't! Hah! It's worse having something and losing it than never having it at all!" He collapsed onto a chair, still laughing raucously.  
  
Kenny narrowed his eyes. "I disagree." He stalked towards his bedroom, knocking roughly into Cartman as he went. "I take it back, Kyle could never find solace in a selfish asshole like you. I betrayed him."  
  
"Oh he'll love me once I get him alone… hah… he'll love me to DEATH," Cartman taunted.  
  
Kenny's heart sank into his stomach. Of all of the situations that had played out in his head involving Cartman being alone with Kyle, this non-consensual shit was what he feared most. He stopped and ran back to Cartman, screaming into his face, "LISTEN, YOU SON OF A BITCH! IF YOU DO ANYTHING TO KYLE, OR TELL HIM I TOLD YOU ANYTHING, I WILL MAKE SURE YOU PAY!" His words fell on deaf ears. Cartman was still doubled over with laughter. In a last ditch effort, Kenny grabbed the fatass by the throat, forcing Cartman to look at him.  
  
"ERIC! I told you about this because, like a fucking idiot, I thought you and Kyle could somehow provide each other with some company while I'm not around. Obviously I was as wrong as I could have been, but you better not do a damn fucking thing to him. Got it?" Kenny glared murderously at Cartman, making sure his words made it into his fat skull.  
  
Cartman glared back at him, his laughter subsiding, and he shoved Kenny off of him, sending him crashing into the coffee table "Don't worry, Kenny," he snarled. "I won't hurt your precious Kyle."  
  
Kenny groaned weakly, blood starting to trickle slowly from a gash on his head. "I don't believe you."  
  
Cartman flipped Kenny off and gathered up his belongings, a devilish smile working its way back onto his face. "Oh sorge dich nicht, Kenny, ich habe andere Pläne. Erstaunliche und wundervolle Pläne für meinen lieben Freund Kyle. ( Oh don't worry, Kenny. I have different plans. Amazing and wonderful plans for my dear friend Kyle.)"  
  
Kenny tried to get up, tried to stop Cartman from leaving, but the puddle on the floor was growing larger. This was not a good time to die.  
  
Cartman paid no attention to his friend’s dead body. He had plans to make. He had a depressed and lonely Kyle Broflovski to take care of; so vulnerable, so malleable in his massive, unforgiving hands. He'd been waiting for an opportunity like this for years, and what better way to bring himself out of his own slump? He was determined to turn this low point into the highest point of his whole fucking life. All he could think about as he walked the summer streets of his hometown was…  
 _  
Entscheidungen entscheidungen... (Decisions decisions)_  
  
He had to make a quick stop back home to pick up a few things. Unsurprisingly, whenever he visited the McCormicks his money seemed to magically disappear from his wallet. Eventually he'd wised up and started leaving his shit behind. Eric would need his stuff tonight however, since who knows! He could be taking little Kyle on a date. Hah.  
  
He’d better not get ahead of himself, though. Cartman had to plan this visit perfectly to a T, or a Y rather. If Kyle caught wind of anything he was trying to do, the game would be over and Cartman HATED it when the game ended in Kyle's favor. He would actually have to act empathetic for once.   
  
Empathy - it was hard to act the part when he had never felt anything close to it in his life.  
  
Slipping his wallet into his back pocket, Cartman turned off his bedroom light and shouted to his mother that he'd be out for a while. He didn't wait for her response before he left the house.

* * *

Inside the Broflovski residence, the room one floor up and first to the right would usually be filled with muffled cursing over homework or the occasional heightened voice from a lively phone call, but this hadn’t been the case since that past May. The room now resembled that of a college student’s who hadn’t returned home and whose germaphobic mother wouldn’t dare to walk amongst the dust, dirty clothes, and occasional crumpled up tissue.   
  
Kyle thought the bleak state of his quarters quite adequately reflected how he was currently feeling. Kenny was dead again, so that meant he would be spending his night reading or browsing online. Homework and the internet. That's what his life had basically entailed ever since the break up. Kenny might brighten things up once in a while, but he never stayed alive for more than a couple of days. Truth be told, Kyle had never felt so lonely in his life. Previous to this he had always had Stan by his side, but now that wasn't the case. Kyle had never realized how much of his life was devoted to his ex-best friend, boyfriend, brother from another mother - whatever. That train of thought was too depressing, so he decided to drown his sorrows on Reddit. At least someone out there always had it worse than him.   
  
Getting up from his bed, he logged on to his computer and immediately started to browse the wtf subreddit. He was completely ignoring the email he'd received from his teacher today reminding him that he needed to read a book by the time school started next week. Unfortunately, the internet was always more interesting, so that assignment would have to wait. Dismissing a nagging voice sounding from the back of his head, he defiantly hovered his cursor over a link titled "So this happened to me today..." before he heard a familiar voice float up from downstairs. Was Kenny back? No, that wasn't his voice. That voice belonged to…   
  
_Could that seriously be Cartman?_   
  
Kyle flung from his chair to hurriedly lock his bedroom door. "Horrified" couldn't cover just how disgusted Kyle felt at that very moment. That asshole couldn't be home yet! Yes, Kyle had taken advantage of the fact that he didn't have to deal with the fatass all summer, but damn it he was getting used to his absence! That was the ONLY part of this summer Kyle had actually enjoyed - the fact that Cartman wasn't around to make it worse. How pathetic.

Turning around, the redhead dived into his mattress and buried his head under his pillow in an attempt to block out any and all noise coming from his front door. Try as he might, he could still hear Cartman making small-talk with his mom about his adventures with Wendy Testaburger and the rest of the Debate Team. Kyle wondered if Cartman knew about how she agreed to date Stan again, because _he_ certainly knew about it. Kenny told him about their reunification yesterday from Damien's hell phone, and the shock from that conversation had caused him to forget that if Cartman was on the same fucking bus as Wendy, of COURSE he'd be home too. Well now Kyle knew better, the fucker was in his house.

What in the hell did he want anyway? Kyle puzzled over all the possible reasons for Cartman's surprise visit, but apparently there was no time for that because he could already hear the asshole coming up the stairs. _Just great_... he thought to himself with a disgruntled groan, burying his head deeper into his pillow. There came the door knob jiggle, and without much delay, the eventual knock.

"Come on Jewface, we have a lot to talk about. Catching up, right? I haven't talked to you since May and you didn't send me a post card. Douche," Cartman bitched on the other side of the door.

Kyle ignored him.

So Cartman knocked louder and shouted, "KYLE! Open the fucking door seriously, I need to talk to you."

For some reason the fatass sounded sincere. Weird, but Kyle knew better.

"Fuck off Cartman, you're the last thing I need right now. You have no idea what I've been through this summer!" he snapped, but then thought of something pretty amusing. Forcing Cartman to sit through a rant about how god-awful his summer was might be kind of fun. Hm, maybe he SHOULD let him in.

But just he was about to reconsider his decision, he heard a smug laugh sound out from behind the door. "Let me guess. Rejection? Being shot down by the one person you hoped to spend the rest of your life with only to find out that it was never meant to be because she was still HOPELESSLY in love with someone else? Oh well, in your case it would be-"

The door suddenly sprung open, causing light to flood the dim room, and Cartman's dark shadow cast down upon the bewildered looking redhead whose emerald eyes bore daggers into his dirt brown ones.

But that didn't stop Cartman. Smiling callously, the asshole dared to finish his sentence in a mocking tone: "… _he_?"

Kyle's hands were on Cartman before he could react, forcefully throwing the large boy as far as he could into his dark room. He never took his eyes off him, not even when he reached back to lock the door again.

" _Kenny_." He spit the name out as if it were sour milk.

Cartman was a bit disoriented from the sudden scuffle, but he managed to brush himself off without pause in order to properly confirm Kyle's venomous accusation. "Yes Kenny told me, but honestly _Kahl_? I'm not very surprised."

Of course he'd intentionally say his name in that annoying little accent to get him even more riled up. Kyle could tell he was enjoying this way too much.

Cocking his head, Kyle gave his own exaggerated response as he maintained eye contact with the fat lard, encroaching on him in dangerous little steps. " _Really_? Well I guess we were always fags to you. Weren't we, fatass? You must be soooo fucking happy..." He trailed off, standing only a foot in front of him with a glare signalling that he was only two seconds away from tearing his mother fucking face off.

"Happy?" Cartman replied with a teasing frown, pretending to sound upset. "How could I be? My favorite little gaywads are history now!" He paused in order to dramatically carry up a hand to his brow. "I mean Kenny and I predicted a long time ago that you two would get married and start a family and live happily ever after! How disappointi-"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP LARD ASS!" Kyle screamed at him, shutting Cartman up by grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and slamming him against the closet door. The enthralled look on the asshole's face was enough to make him cry out in even more rage, "Like you know what the fuck love is! You know what you know? Jealousy! You were fucking jealous that Stan and I loved each other as much as we did, so you went and made bets behind our backs like the skeevy little fuck you are! Well guess what, asshole? The joke's on you! Stan and I are through! What fucking love..."

Kyle was sobbing by this point, oblivious to the growing bulge in Cartman's pants pressing against him as he continued with a jagged breath, "What fucking love is there now for you to bet on? It's OVER." Ending on a cry, he pitifully shook Cartman against the wall again, suddenly regretting that he'd gotten so far into it. Who in his right mind would break like that in front of his mortal enemy?

Yet Cartman, like the insensitive dick he was, took this as an opportunity to take advantage of the smaller boy's weakened state.

Right before he was about to pull away, Kyle suddenly felt himself get spun around as both of his wrists were yanked over his head. To his horror, he realized that Cartman had turned the tables on him. His frightened, puffy eyes reflected his current turmoil as fear quickly spread throughout his body. Now Cartman was the one staring daggers at _him_ , his dark and relentless eyes sucking up the fire that once ignited the smaller boy cowering beneath him.

"You didn't listen to me jewboy," his arch-nemesis spoke in a terrifyingly low timbre. Kyle had no idea what Cartman's game was now, and he was scared to even _think_ about what it could possibly be. He instinctively tried to crouch away from the crazed teen in front of him, but Cartman pulled him back up with shuddering force and growled, "I said 'she', didn't you hear? The same fucking thing happened to me the moment that bitch went back to her pussy-ass-jock-strap-emo-fag ex-boyfriend!"

The next thing Kyle knew, he was being thrown on his bed, watching as Cartman stormed off to the other side of the room. The fucker actually got _mad_ , like, for real! The bastard's wounds were obviously just as fresh as his own, but that was no excuse for this irrational behavior. Kyle was too dumbstruck to snap back at him properly, so he continued to observe him pacing around like a lion in an inadequately sized zoo cage.

Cartman couldn't help but notice the other boy's persistent stare, so he whipped his head around and snapped, "What? Don't like it when I bash your buddy? It's true though, he stole her from me. I spent the whole summer with her and the second she gets back? He asks her out again. Typical, it's probably why he dumped you."

Kyle lowered his head. That comment certainly rubbed salt in his wound and he knew Cartman meant it to. He was spiralling fast and he really didn't have the energy to keep up this fight anymore, but he was no quitter. Sitting up in his bed, he swallowed down an ugly lump in his throat and forced himself to clamber up. "He didn't dump me because of Wendy, she's just a beard."

The redhead looked up again, his stare cold and unmoving as he bore holes into the large mass in front of him. He wanted these next words to hurt Cartman just as much as his words hurt him: "He's _using_ her Cartman, and she ran back to him without looking back at your pathetic ass for even a measly second."

Kyle got what he wished for, because Cartman was on him like a kid on cake, tackling him into the mattress and dragging him up to the head of the bed. He struggled to throw the larger boy off of him, but Cartman prevented his escape by shoving his giant hands around his neck, squeezing the air out of his quaking little throat. It was about that time that Kyle regretted his decision to make Cartman even more irate. Every time he opened his mouth to breath, the air stopped short of his tongue causing his lungs to tighten and his throat to croak. He could feel his head swelling up from the increasing pressure, an ocean-like sound building from inside his ears as a result. He tried to open his eyes, and when he eventually did, he could see Cartman grinning down at him with a weird glint in his eyes. Kyle had seen this look before whenever Cartman won a bet or something to that degree, but this time, something else was there.

Then he felt it: Cartman's erection riding against his thigh. Just as his vision was starting to go, Kyle experienced a fleeting moment of clarity where he realized that this was getting Cartman off. At first he couldn't believe it, but upon reflection, this made an ounce of sense. Cartman was pissed because he couldn't sleep with Wendy, so he just came over here to fuck him instead. Great. What a perfect way to end this loathsome summer.

But then, in a flash, Kyle felt Cartman's hands release from his neck. Recoiling into a fetal position, the smaller boy desperately wheezed oxygen back into his body. He sensed Cartman getting off the bed, and after a couple of coughs and sputters, Kyle did something unexpected: he started to laugh.

"What's so funny? I just tried to kill you! You should be seething by now," Cartman called back in confusion, eyeing him with a befuddled expression etched across his face.

"It's just that-" Kyle attempted to explain, but his laughter quickly subsided once he realized the whole situation wasn't funny at all. Back to feeling morose, he got up and aimlessly walked to his window, pulling on the cord so that the curtain would give way. Immediately, his room filled with orange light from the sun setting in the distance. "You're pathetic."

"So are you," Cartman combated, folding his arms into his chest as he argued, "In fact, I would argue you're much more pathetic than I ever was this summer. For the past few months or so, just what have you accomplished? At least I did something when I found out Wendy wasn't going to go for me."

Kyle looked away from the window, staring at the floor beside him. He wasn't really interested in what that 'something' was, he just wanted the fucker to get to his point so he could finally leave. "What. What did you do?"

"I came to you."

 _What._ Kyle thought to himself as he rolled his eyes. He was not in the mood for Cartman's games.

"Cartman, seriously?" He finally turned around to face the lard ass who was now standing across the room with this annoying-ass, knowing smirk. "Get a life. I don't care if we're in the same situation. Sure both of our hearts were broken by the one person we'd hope to spend the rest of our lives with, but I hate you. Why would I EVER help your sorry ass through this?"

"Because they happen to be _dating_ , Kyle."

"So? What does that have to do with us?"

"We're _alone_."

Kyle let out an exasperated sigh, not really sure what Cartman was getting at. Thankfully he had a counter: "Ugh. I have Kenny, I don't know what you're talking about."

But so did Cartman. "Like that's any kind of companionship. How many times a week do you get to see him, three? Four times? Not enough."

Growing confused, Kyle perked his brow inquisitively before asking, "What is the point you're trying to make here? That we should buddy up or something? That now that we're fucked, we should be fucked together? Do you honestly think I would fall for something that stupid?"

Cartman just shrugged his shoulders, "Beats having to wait for Kenny's resurrections. Lord knows I had to when you and Stan were off-" He abruptly cut himself off, but then flashed Kyle a malicious grin. "And here I thought you two were just playing video games..."

Oh how Kyle wanted to start Round Two and wipe that fucking smirk off his face. Nothing would satisfy him more than to make that fat tub of lard beg for mercy, but then he remembered that fighting Cartman apparently got him off. Kyle actually huffed an amused breath at that. If hating him wasn't enough, that was a _sure fire_ reason why Kyle would NEVER hang out with him.

 _Hah_ , Kyle thought, _I should bring that up_.

"Keep dreaming, lard ass. Lord knows how bad you want to fuck me now after pinning me down like that," he teased, intentionally running his lithe fingers through his mess of curls. Keeping his eyes focused ahead, Kyle gazed at Cartman with as much lust as he could possibly muster up without getting nauseous over it. "I felt you get hard while you had me pinned... you disgusting _pig_."

Kyle definitely had him there, so he revelled in his small little victory as he watched Cartman squirm uncomfortably, his eyes smiling with insurmountable pleasure. But it wasn't long before Cartman regained his composure, fixing his pants with as much subtlety as a hurricane. "So you felt it? Good. You've probably never felt anything that big in your life… or have you? You must have gotten lonely without Stan to play with, and I bet Kenny wasn't around to entertain you as much as you would have liked."

Suddenly things weren't funny anymore, and Kyle's playful expression died down once he realized Cartman was trying to weasel his way out of an admission by sparking yet another fight. Worse yet, it was working.

Especially after he belted out this little quip: "I wouldn't be surprised if you've slept around town while Kenny was in Hell, _you dirty jew rat_."

Kyle saw red, and shortly after that he just couldn't help himself. He flew out from around his bed like something out of the Exorcist, pouncing on an elated Cartman with enough force to knock his gargantuan ass down to the floor. This time, however, Kyle wouldn't let him enjoy it, oh no. He fought dirty this time by tearing up Cartman's face up and clawing at his eyes with his scrubby little nails

As proof of his success, Cartman winced away from him with a boyish whine, coming to the realization that this wasn't sexy anymore. "Hey! Stop it! You're hurting me!"

"That's the point, dumbass!" The redhead exclaimed, kneeing Cartman's junk to seal the deal.

"FUCK!" The larger boy shrieked, curling up into a ball on the floor.

Pleased with this outcome, Kyle hastily got to his feet and kept kicking the brunet until the fucker was completely incapacitated. Then, in a final act of distaste, he spit on Cartman's writhing body before retrieving his keys, smart phone case, and jacket from over at his desk.

On his way to the door, Kyle peered down at the sore loser and calmly instructed in an acidic tone, "When you eventually go home and jack off to me? I want you to remember that I kicked your sorry ass to the ground tonight in a matter of _seconds_."

Cartman didn't say anything, so Kyle continued, "I wouldn't be caught dead with you, Cartman. I hate you more than I hate the moment Stan told me it was over."

That was all he had to say, but just as he unlocked the door he heard Cartman finally speak up, "Where are you going to go Kyle? Kenny's dead, remember? So now what, gonna go to Stark's and reminisce about ancient times which will never resurface?"

Kyle faltered at that, his hand shaking on the doorknob as his jaw tightened to the point of squeaking. He always hated how Cartman could read him so well.

"You have no one Kyle. No one but me. Believe it or not, I understand what you're going through. I can help you get through this! " Cartman belted out, trying to win back this game, but Kyle wouldn't let him. 

Instead of gracing him with a response, Kyle decided to end this whole thing by stepping out of his bedroom and leaving his own god damn house to spite Cartman's attempt at friendship - or whatever the fuck he wanted.

He didn't even hear Ike asking him where he was going on his way out the front door.

* * *

After the fight, Cartman managed to avoid detection by exiting Kyle's bedroom window like he used to as a kid. He had a lot to think about on his way back home, so he reviewed what had just taken place and figured that Kyle was certainly right about one thing; he was _definitely_ going to jack off to all the pretty images that sassy fuck supplied for him tonight. Not the ass kicking part, but definitely all the points leading up to it.

Thankfully his house was a short, convenient walk from Kyle's, and the night was still considerably young! Figuring he still had some time to kill, he contemplated swinging by Stan's house to see what the fuck that dickwad was up to, amused as all fuck that it was probably the LAST place Kyle would run off to. He still couldn't get over how fucking funny that was, but just as he decided to change directions, he thought about a certain someone who _could_ be visiting Stan's house that night.

Cartman's enthusiasm flagged after that epiphany, and with a sour look, he turned back around to march back to his own house. This day just needed to fucking end. He was convinced there was just no way it could get any crazier.

That is, until his mother nervously handed him a letter upon his arrival.

A letter from his uncle.

Holding it in his hands, he looked at her with the same knowing look he gave her whenever his uncle forced his way into their lives. He knew she didn't want him to open it, she didn't want him to have anything to do with Howard. Nevertheless, he shut his eyes and wordlessly took to the stairs, feeling Liane's eyes on him as he went, pleading him to just throw away the note. But Cartman paid her no mind, trudging up the steps and not looking back.

Getting to his room, he swung open the door and flicked on the light. Unlike Kyle's room, his room was kept pristine while he was away. The bed was made, fresh linen stocked his drawers, the floor was vacuumed, and everything was dusted. The space was essentially flawless. Well, flawless if one didn't take into account all the Nazi posters and various anti-Semitic memorabilia that littered his room - presents from his loving uncle over the years.

Cartman used to love getting this shit in the mail, but as he grew older, he started actually taking the time to read the notes that came with the packages. That's when he realized his uncle's true intentions.

Only an idiot would end up in jail for something as paltry as leading a group of uneducated skinheads, and Cartman was no idiot. He had bigger plans, plans that only involved _one_ Jew and there was no way in hell he'd ever let anyone else share his victory over him.

Getting this letter was a fitting way to cap off this crappy day, and Cartman felt truly insulted that his uncle had sent him yet _another_ one. Tired of looking at it, he stomped over to his closet and threw open the doors. After kneeling down, he pulled out a shoe box and opened the lid, revealing it to be filled to the brim with unopened letters all addressed to him with a return addresses from the Nevada State Penitentiary.

Wishing _yet again_ that this would be the last, Cartman added the new letter to the box and shoved it back into the dark closet.

With that out of the way, he was free to spend the rest of the night plotting out his glorious scheme to bring about Kyle's destruction... after attending to something equally as satisfying, of course.

 

* * *

 

 ** Thanks to both my lovely RP Partner PrincessBelle212 and Lethargy for being my beta's and helping me edit this whole story!** ** Also, big thanks to TerryxRage who has graciously corrected my German text!  **


	3. Secret Spires and Long Hair

Procrastination was a killer, and no one knew this better than Kyle Broflovski the night before the first day of school. Sure he had a whole week to finish all this shit, but do you know what’s also a killer? Apathy, and Kyle still had plenty of it. The worst part about it was that he had been doing pretty well up to the day Cartman busted into his room, but that asshole sent him back to square fucking one when it came to his recovery process.  
  
In between wasting away and going through the motions with his family, Kyle vaguely remembered Kenny coming back and apologizing profusely for blabbing everything to Cartman, but he honestly just wanted to forget about the whole thing. Besides, Cartman hadn’t shown his ugly face since that horrible day. No phone calls, text messages, emails, facebook comments, nothing! He’d normally be ecstatic about Cartman leaving him alone, but it actually worried him. One day Cartman was grinding his junk into him and now here, a week later, complete silence.  
  
Yet Kyle wouldn’t allow himself to think too hard about the whys and reasons behind Cartman’s strange behavior. His number one priority was to finish up all this pre-September homework before school began in-  
  
Kyle checked his clock again. _Five hours._  
  
He felt like dying. The only way he’d gotten this far into the night was by thinking up hypothetical situations that could happen once he stepped foot back into school again. Motivation came from the strangest of places. He loved thinking about things like, what if he bumped into Stan in the hallway and he totally went back on everything?  
  
Kyle smiled, his mind drifting from his book to a scene he'd played out in his head about twenty times that night already. Something along the lines of “ _I don’t need you anymore, Stan_!” and Stan crawling back to him saying, “ _I know, I need you_.”  
  
 **BEEP BEEP** 4:00 am. If Kyle didn't sleep now, he would have no energy to go through the motions during school. He was nowhere near finished, but he was more excited about appearing alive and radiant in front of Stan than any of his school work. The teachers all loved him anyway, he could make it up in no time.  
  
Slumping over to the bed, Kyle was practically sleepwalking he was so exhausted, but just as he was about to slip under his covers and call it a night his window started to rattle. Flinging his eyes wide open, he felt a cold chill run up his spine as he was abruptly knocked out of his dreamlike reverie. Wide awake now, he crouched down below the side of his mattress and reached under the bed for his baseball bat.    
  
Of course Cartman didn’t just give up, he was just waiting for the perfect time to strike! Well that bastard was in for a huge disappointment, because Kyle was wired and ready to fight! Bat in hand, he snuck around to the side of the windowsill and waited anxiously for the fatass to take his first step inside. Seconds later, and much to his surprise, he heard a loud thump followed by an unexpected “Fucking ‘ell!” in an accent clearly not belonging to Cartman.  
  
Kyle’s mood changed completely, and he dropped the bat and rushed over to help his dear friend. "Jesus Christ, Christophe! You should have called me, I was one ‘Fucking ‘ell’ away from clubbing you over the head with a baseball bat!” he exclaimed, helping the French boy through his window. “I thought you said you were on your way to Massachusetts? Shouldn’t keep Gregory waiting…"  
  
"You honestly think I would leave you after what ‘appened zat night?" Christophe asked incredulously, graciously taking Kyle’s hand before finally stepping inside. "I've been making rounds for you- watching ze fat asses' ‘ouse making sure ‘e wasn't leaving late at night to stalk you."  
  
Once Christophe was on his feet Kyle sighed contently and strolled back to bed, feeling far more relaxed than he had only a minute before. Ever since their first encounter during the American Canadian War, Christophe had a knack for showing up whenever Kyle needed him most. Though he freaked out the first time Christophe broke into his room unannounced, Kyle grew used to it over time. These visits actually became something he would look forward to since Christophe would do favors for him every once in awhile, like the time he magically retrieved his laptop after someone stole it his freshman year. It was almost like having a fairy godmother, only one who smoked, was covered in dirt, cursed loudly, and had no regard for personal space.    
  
"’Aven't been here in a while…" Christophe mentioned, surveying the abysmal state of Kyle’s room. "I won't be ‘ere long, I just wanted to tell you zat I ‘aven't seen ze fat ass do anything suspicious. It genuinely seems as zough ‘e was blowing off steam zat night. You ‘ave nothing to worry about as far as I can tell."  
  
Kyle hummed in approval, nuzzling further into his sheets.  
  
Picking up a discarded notebook on the floor, Christophe rummaged through it curiously before informing, "You know I am leaving soon. I don't know when I'll be back in Colorado."  
  
"No problem," the redhead mumbled into his pillow, knowing Christophe wouldn’t mind if he rested his eyes for a bit. "I'm just happy you were there that night."  
  
"I knew Cartman would be arriving sometime zis month, and I also knew that ‘e might ‘ave wanted to pick a fight wiz you ze moment he got ‘ere.” Christophe set the book down and glanced back at Kyle’s prone figure. “I am sorry I did not stop ‘im before ‘e got to your ‘ouse; an assassin from South America followed me ‘ere and I ‘ad to take care of ‘im."  
  
"Well you were right, Cartman did want a fight, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle. I just needed someone to vent to afterwards, so thanks for that." Kyle yawned, motioning over to his light in the hopes that his guest would turn it off for him.  
  
"Pas problem,” Christophe replied, amused by Kyle’s flailing arm. Laughing, he strolled over to the desk and flicked off the lamp. “Thank Kenny too, ‘e might not ‘ave been ‘ere as much but ‘e tried."  
  
Finally ready for bed, Kyle watched Christophe’s dark figure float back towards the window. "So you don't know when you'll be back?"  
  
"You can always call me, mon ami," the tattered boy assured, offering Kyle one last smile before disappearing into the night.  
  
Suddenly remembering a question he wanted to ask him, Kyle bolted back up in an attempt to catch him before he missed his chance. What should he do if Cartman came back?  But just as he was about to get out of bed, he asked himself why he was so concerned in the first place. He had never really needed help with Cartman before, why was this time any different?  
  
Christophe’s visit made Kyle realize that he had relied on other people way too much this summer. First Kenny when everything first started to go to shit, and now Christophe after Cartman made things worse. Why couldn’t he just handle this himself? He knew it wasn’t necessarily healthy to bottle up all his emotions and not talk about it to anyone, but did Kenny and Christophe really think he couldn’t make it without Stan around?  
  
Kyle tried not to think about it. If he wanted to get Stan back, this independent act needed to be convincing. But in that thought lied another problem, why _did_ he need to get Stan back? Why _act_ independent? Why not just _be_ independent?  
  
 _Fuck that noise_. _No more Stan and Kyle show_ , _I don’t need to be in a relationship_ , Kyle thought to himself, angrily pulling his blanket over his head.  
  
 _This year, it’ll be different. I’ll show him. I’ll show them all I can do this myself._

* * *

  
Figures that the first day of school would be a record low for September. Kyle was freezing his balls off on his way to the bus stop. Not only that, but he was still so tired. He ended up waking up an hour earlier to finish that book for his English class. Now that the assignment was out of the way, all he could think about was the fact that he was about to see Stan for the first time since they had broken up.  
  
Kyle wasn't ready for this, and of course Kenny wasn't around to balance out the awkwardness. So now he was about to go at this alone, but that only seemed appropriate given his new outlook on the school year. He would just ignore him or pretend he was a new kid, or something.

Easier said than done.  
  
Stan was already waiting for him by the school bus stop. He had his driver’s license and everything, yet he chose to take the bus today anyway. Kyle knew he did this on purpose, he wanted to talk. The fucker ignored him the whole summer and now he wanted to talk.  
  
Kyle’s heart sunk to his stomach. He was so totally not ready for this. In fact, he wasn’t able to do this, _period_. Seeing Stan standing over there was just too surreal for Kyle to handle. The only interaction he'd had with him this whole summer was in his dreams. Could this be a dream too? He certainly hoped it was, because maybe then he could wake himself up. _Please wake up. Someone please wake me u-_  
  
"What the fuck are you doing out in the middle of the street, Jewboy?"    
  
Kyle flung his eyes back open and whipped his head around. Apparently Cartman decided to walk to the bus stop early today too, what fucking luck. Actually, his fat ass might come in handy today. Now Kyle had something to hide behind.  
  
"I'm still waking up," Kyle snapped back, intentionally walking directly behind Cartman to avoid Stan's gaze.  
  
Cartman didn’t seem to notice Kyle’s weird behavior at first, so he kept up his moderate pace and called back, "Oh ho ho, what were _you_ doing last night? Oh wait, don’t tell me-"  
  
He turned around to face him, but Kyle actually grabbed onto him and kept him into position. "Shut it lard ass and keep still."  
  
"Why?" Cartman asked in all seriousness, but once he spotted who was already at the bus stop it all became perfectly clear.  
  
"Oh." Cartman didn’t seem too happy to see him either, but wasn’t willing to do Kyle any favors, so he stepped back to reveal the smaller boy crouched behind him like a fool.  
  
Kyle, realizing that he’d been exposed, immediately pretended that he'd dropped something and started fervently searching through the snow.  
  
Stan took one look at Kyle and inhaled a deep breath, obviously disappointed about something. Nevertheless, he turned his attention back to Cartman and attempted some small talk. "Hey Cartman, how was the trip? I haven't seen you since school let out in what, May?"  
  
Cartman, however, had no intention of talking to Stan that morning, especially about the trip he and Wendy shared. If Stan wanted the juicy details, he’d have to ask the ho herself.  
  
"Oh it was great!” The larger boy cheered mockingly, clapping his hands together and smiling brightly down at a very confused-looking Stan. “You should talk to Wendy about it though; she saw more of the sights than I did. And when I say sights, I mean penis. And in hearing all about your previous little escapades with my dear friend Kyle here, I believe you might be interested in hearing all about that from her."  
  
Stan just stood back, aghast, and then a second or two later the bus arrived.  
  
Throwing the dark haired boy a passing smirk, Cartman fished out his iPod and casually made his way over to the sliding doors.  
  
Kyle couldn’t decide whether he wanted to punch Cartman in the face for being a dick or pat him on the back for a job well done. That last bit was embarrassing as fuck, but he knew that insult wasn’t meant for him. After Stan bashfully hurried into the bus, Kyle followed shortly thereafter and sat in the seat directly in front of Cartman.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Cartman paused his music and gave Kyle a perplexed look. "Thanks for what?"  
  
"For... well, that. Out there,” he responded, not really knowing what the fuck he was doing thanking Cartman of all people. Still, appreciation should be given where it’s due.  
  
But of course Cartman had to act like an asshole about it by stretching himself out on the seat and passing him a smug look. "Oh, no problem Kyle, but I didn’t really do that for you. I really hate that son a bitch for stealing Wendy from me. And the whole hiding thing? Man up Broflovski, seriously."  
  
"Shut up, Cartman. You don’t even know what you’re talking about," Kyle retorted defensively, looking for something to distract himself with. He settled on pulling out his class schedule to review his order of classes today. Lord help him if he had to share any with Stan, let alone Cartman.  
  
Apparently he wasn’t the only one looking for a distraction, because a second or two after he uncrumpled it he heard Cartman’s annoying voice ring out again, sounding a little anxious this time.  
  
"Why are you taking German?"  
  
Kyle peered up at him, giving him a flat look. "What?" he asked openly. Though he'd heard him perfectly well the first time, he decided to be nice and give Cartman a chance to reconsider making some offensive joke before he backhanded him across the face.  
  
Cartman apparently didn’t get the hint. "I said, why are you taking German?" he repeated, sounding even more excited this time for some reason.  
  
Kyle wasn’t sure what Cartman was trying to get at. In truth, he'd chosen the class because he still needed to meet the foreign language requirement to graduate and his parents were friends with the German teacher. Kyle was pretty sure Cartman had no idea about this, so he tucked his schedule back into his bag and pulled out his iPod to drown him out. "Don't get any ideas, you racist piece of shit. It just so happens that German is really close to Yiddish, so passing this class will be no sweat for me at all.”  
  
Cartman nodded, still giving him that smartass look as he replied, "Huh, easy 'A' huh? Well, Frau Anke's a pretty hard teacher. She's fun and all, but she wants her students to learn as much German as they can during her class, so be prepared.”  
  
 _Oh here we go,_ Kyle thought to himself. No wonder Cartman was acting so fucking conceited; he’d grab at _any_ chance to sound smarter than Kyle. Everyone knew Cartman had been fluent in German by the time he was ten years old, and clearly he had already taken several classes on it at school. Yet Kyle took this as a challenge, and gave Cartman his own little snobby smirk before responding, "Whatever fat ass. You'll see. I'll be speaking German better than you by the end of semester…"  
  
Apparently Cartman took that as a joke, because he immediately broke out in a round of laughter and jabbed, "Das will ich sehen!” (That I want to see!)  
  
Kyle had no idea what Cartman had just said, but it pissed him off nevertheless. "Keep it up, Tubby McNugget. I know Frau Anke too, you know. She told me that the school was paying for a German tutor and that he'd help me whenever I needed it! So there!"  
  
Normally a comment like that would either shut Cartman up or provoke him even further, but instead of seeing him huff defensively or push back like he expected him to, Kyle noticed his grin curl up even more! Something was up. The more Kyle’s proud smile started to sag into an uncomfortable frown, the more Cartman’s eyes seemed to gleam with an eerie glow.  
  
God he wished he knew what the fuck was going on inside Cartman’s head, or maybe he didn’t. All he knew was that something changed the day Cartman barged into his room, and Kyle had already dealt with enough change this summer. So he decided to pass it off as Cartman’s typical weirdness for now. They were pulling up in front of the school anyway, and he had more pressing concerns. Everyone was probably going to notice that he and Stan were avoiding each other, and Kyle wasn’t looking forward to answering all their nosy questions.  
  
Making sure he was the first person off the bus, Kyle took out his iPod again to occupy himself on his way to the courtyard. He sensed someone following him, but didn’t think twice about it until he heard Cartman’s voice right beside his ear whispering, "Don’t look now Jewboy, but I think everyone is looking at you."

Kyle was more freaked out by the whisper than by anything else; the warmness of Cartman's breath tickled him in such a way that he wished he could take a shower right that instant. Only after he brushed Cartman off did he look around the courtyard to see for himself what the fuck the fat ass was talking about.  
  
One glance was all it took for Kyle to freeze in his tracks. Everyone in front of the school was looking at him. _Why,_ though? He wasn’t THAT popular. Well, Stan was pretty well known since he was the god damn Quarterback of the Junior Varsity Team, so Kyle guessed he was too if only by association. The stares were weird enough, but everything got ten times worse when Mr. Popular himself got off the bus. When everyone saw Stan whisk past Kyle without giving him a second glance, they all started whispering to each other as though they were watching something out of a reality show.  
  
Worse yet was when Stan met Wendy at the entrance and laced their fingers together. Kyle swore he heard a couple of gasps.  
  
 _Was all that really fucking necessary?_ Kyle cursed inside his head, clenching his hands into tight little fists. Word had apparently spread around pretty quick, and he had a pretty good clue who the culprit was.  
  
Spinning around on his heel, the redhead yanked the larger boy down to growl hotly in his face, " _what the fuck was that_? _Did_ _you fucking tell anyone_?"  
  
Cartman must have rehearsed his reaction or something, because he looked just about as shocked as Kyle did. "What are you talking about, Jew? I had absolutely nothing to do with this! Serioul-"  
  
"Kyle! HEY! What's up? I need to talk to you for a sec!" A voice abruptly butted in, and all of a sudden a crazed-looking Kenny barged into the middle of their scuffle. Grabbing onto Kyle’s hands, he started yanking him away, peering over at the larger boy with a warning look. "Cartman, _if you don't mind_."  
  
Kyle had no idea what the fuck was going on, and judging by the confused look still plastered on Cartman’s face, he was pretty sure that bastard hadn’t a clue either. There were a lot of questions Kyle still needed to ask him, but they would have to wait. The bell had just rung for homeroom and Kenny seemed to have other plans.

* * *

  
It was no surprise to Kyle that today had already turned into a fiasco, and being late on top of all this was really going to suck. In any other situation Kyle would be royally pissed off about getting dragged away like some ragdoll, but today was different. He wanted answers, and Kenny was the expert when it came to surveying his fellow peers.

"Where the hell have you been?” he questioned, jerking his arm back as they entered the men’s room. Thankfully it was empty, probably because everyone else was in homeroom like they were SUPPOSED to be. “You’re usually not away for this long! More importantly, what the hell was that? When did word get out?"

Catching his breath, Kenny rested himself against one of the sinks before glancing back with a frown. "Well dude, people caught on pretty quickly when they didn’t see you or Stan hanging around each other all summer!”

 Letting go, he walked over to Kyle and got within inches of his face, asking under his breath, “Did you even get Clyde’s invitation to his huge pool party? He told me he invited everyone and he didn’t even get an RSVP from you. He assumed it was because Stan was going to be there and I mean, Clyde’s a bit slow but he’s not stupid. I don’t think they know that like, you guys were DATING or anything, but they can definitely tell you’re not friends anymore. They’re all just shocked that you’re STILL not talking to each other.”

A pink tint rushed across Kyle’s cheeks, him not understanding why Kenny got so close all of a sudden.  "So what? It’s none of their business. Why is everyone making such a big deal? They just need to get over themselves."

 "Yeah,” Kenny agreed, shoving his hands into his pockets as he took a step back, suddenly remembering what he wanted to say in the first place. “Oh, and you should stay away from Cartman, too. He’s up to no good."

 _Figures._ "I knew something was up. He keeps hanging around me and asking me about 'budding up' or something dumb like that," Kyle admitted.

"Exactly.” Kenny nodded, sounding vindicated as he stood up straight and started preaching, “I was talking to him the other day when he got back from the trip, and dude, he's planning something. I don’t know what it is, but it’s definitely _something_. So just stick by me and I’m pretty sure it’ll all turn out okay.”

Now that was something Kyle didn’t want to hear. Not just confirmation that Cartman was planning something, but that Kenny didn’t think he could handle his own problems. Kyle knew that this was the perfect time to establish his own footing and get this year off to a better start. “Thanks Ken, but I’ll be okay. You know me, I can handle Cartman no problem. Not only that, but I can pull myself out of this rut without you or Cartman or even, ugh, just trust me, alright?"

Kenny didn’t look too convinced, but he nodded anyway and replied, "I totally get it, Kyle. And I want to trust you, but I don't see you taking this as seriously as you should. I mean, I saw you walking into the courtyard with him. Why don't you just tell him to fuck off?"

"I DID tell him to fuck off, but everyone was staring at me and I thought he might have known something about it! He didn’t though; he was just as confused as I was! So maybe we ARE in the same boat,” Kyle snapped, getting sick of this conversation already as he shrugged his bag over his shoulder and glanced at the door. “This doesn't mean I'm redeeming him or anything, I know he’s still an asshole. But honestly? If Cartman keeps pissing off Stan and distracting me from whatever the fuck is going on with all this gossip, I don’t really give a fuck."

"Man, you’re just taking his bait,” Kenny warned, trying to get Kyle's attention before he had a chance to storm out. “Just because you're depressed doesn't mean that you need to be oblivious to what’s going on around you. You’re smarter than that.”

"I know! So why would I willingly walk into Cartman’s trap or whatever the hell he’s doing? Really Ken, you’re all just paranoid over nothing.” Kyle rolled his eyes, waving a fleeting hand in Kenny’s direction before moving to the door. “I’ll see you at lunch."

Leaving Kenny in the bathroom, Kyle never noticed that a certain someone had been occupying one of the stalls, someone who didn’t like hearing that Cartman was already up to his old schemes.

* * *

As much as Kyle wanted to walk out of school and start over again, he knew that time travel was only a onetime thing back in middle school. Today, he’d have to pull up his big boy pants and carry on. As if nothing really mattered.

Except it did matter, and German class had special meaning now ever since he challenged Cartman to a German-off by the end of the semester. Kyle had no doubt in his mind that he’d win, and maybe then the fatass would back off and treat him with some god damn respect. Or even better – leave him the fuck alone!

This class would be a weird experience, though. Kyle was used to being around the smart kids he shared practically every one of his honor classes with. This class was a beginner level, and already the disinterested looks of all the plebeians around him were putting him off. On his way inside the classroom, he actually watched a girl stick her sucked-up, seasick green piece of gum under her desk while the guy next to her was scratching his balls through his dirty gym sweatpants. This is who he’d have to share the class with. Even worse, this is who he might even have _group projects_ with.

Just when he thought he should walk the fuck out on this sorry ass situation, a friendly voice rang out through the crowd of students storming for the desks at the back of the classroom, catching his attention.

“Kyle! It is so nice to see you again!”

The voice belonged to Frau Anke, the enthusiastic German teacher who was married to the other lawyer who made up “Broflovski and Jackson”. Their families had known each other since before Kyle was even born, and every once in a while they’d invite each other over for dinner. Kyle especially loved Frau Anke’s Parmesan Spätzle.  

"Hi Frau Anke," he greeted, changing his direction as he instead approached her desk. She always wore her light colored hair up in this orderly little clip, and her outfits looked like they were straight out of an Ann Taylor display. Frau Anke was definitely a rarity out here in the mountains. The majority of his teachers looked like characters out of The Dark Crystal.

"My, it has been a vhile! Your mother’s Fourth of July dinner was delicious! It was a shame you had so much summer homework, I barely even saw you!”

Kyle almost laughed at that. He hadn’t even touched his summer homework until a week ago. The only thing he did that night was sulk in his room and watch the fireworks from his bed. Stan used to take him out to their special place on Starks to watch them. Not this year.

"Yeah, this summer was one of my busiest. But I loved your Spätzle as always.”

She smiled brightly at that. "I made it just for you, as alvays! Plus, I was so excited to read your name on ze class roster! Ve'll have a great time!"

"I'm sure I will, Frau Anke."

Kyle took a seat somewhere near the front, determined to block out the rest of the students here and pretend it was a one-on-one class with him and Frau Anke. The lesson started normally, with Frau Anke introducing herself and passing out handouts for all those scumbags to fill out. Kyle took his with a smile and began filling it out, though he was pretty sure that Frau Anke knew all of this about him anyway. Halfway through it though, his minded drifted off and he started to think of other things that had been bugging him throughout the day. Like Stan. And Cartman. And the current miserable state of his life. And Everything.

And then the fucking bell rang.

 _What? Class is already over? Did I really just doze through that whole lesson?_ Kyle asked himself as he frantically glanced around the emptying classroom. He had never done this before! Now he was going to be clueless about the homework, if there even was any.

Shooting up from his desk, Kyle slinked up to Frau Anke and asked her with an embarrassed stutter, "Frau Anke? I…I don't know why but I feel as though I need a little extra help. Is there any way I could get the notes from the syllabus or something to look over for tonight's assignment?”

Once she erased the last bit off the chalkboard, she peered down at Kyle with a surprised look and cheered, "Oh do not be so nervous Kyle! Learning another language alvays seems difficult at first. But fortunately for you, ze tutor vill has hours during lunch today!"

Kyle’s face lit up, remembering that there was a German tutor who could help him ace this class and win Cartman’s challenge. "That sounds great Frau Anke! So I should just stay here?"

"Yes, zis is vhere ze tutoring sessions vill be held," she responded, walking back over to her desk to collect some books and her bag. "However, I must attend ze foreign language department meeting in ze teacher's lounge. So I will leave you with him!"

"Oh okay, then I'll see you tomorrow Frau Anke," Kyle dismissed her with a parting wave, taking out his notebook to see if he had taken _any_ notes. Nope. Damn.

However, Frau Anke didn’t leave right away and instead paused right outside the door frame to call out to him, visibly concerned. "Kyle, if you are not feeling vell, you should go to the guidance counsellors. It is not like you to nod off in class."

 _Shit,_ Kyle cursed internally, searching for an excuse for his uncharacteristic behavior. "It's okay Frau Anke, I just need to get back into school mode."

"Okay Kyle, he should be here shortly," she assured him before exiting. "Bis später. (Talk to you later.)"

Once she closed the door and stepped into the hallway, Kyle heard her greet someone in German, "Oh skfnal Eric afsig gjgoegmg."

He couldn’t understand any of it, but he listened in nevertheless. The only thing he could pick up was Frau Anke mentioning his name, and then, much to his annoyance, he heard the guy laugh and say something like, "Wierklik? Ick bin niche oobearrascht. (Really? I’m not surprised.)"

Kyle furrowed his brow, gripping his pencil defensively before thinking, _Who the fuck is this guy? Was he laughing at me?_

Following that exchange, he heard what sounded like Frau Anke’s heels echoing further down the hallway, followed by the shake of the door handle and the subsequent squeak of the door opening.

Then _Cartman_ walked in.

 

* * *

 

 ** Thanks to both my lovely RP Partner PrincessBelle212 and Lethargy for being my beta's and helping me edit this whole story!** ** Also, big thanks to TerryxRage who has graciously corrected my German text!  **

 


	4. Misguided Fools and Scapegoat Mushrooms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a dream sequence that contains non consensual sexual activity. This will be the only section of this fic with subject matter of this nature.

Leaning on the doorframe, Cartman watched with immense pleasure as the redhead's face lit up with embarrassment. He could tell that Kyle thought there had been some kind of mistake, his mouth agape and his eyes fixed on him as though his nemesis had just barged into the classroom butt-fucking-naked.

Still not moving from the door, Cartman continued to stare Kyle down with this little assface smile, taunting the other boy further. "I knew you couldn't hack it."

"Fuck this shit, I'm not staying for this." Kyle immediately got up from his desk, gathering his things before the larger boy could make his way over.

"Come on Jewface, it won't be so bad!" Cartman teased, finally taking his first step towards Kyle's desk. His mind started to wander to shameful places, thinking about how righteous this was going to be. "What's wrong about you, and me … alone … speaking in German?"

"Yeah, fat chance. I can think of at least ten different reasons why this is not going to work." Kyle threw his backpack over his shoulder.

Cartman huffed, crossing his arms and blocking Kyle's path. "Okay, name them."

Stepping to just a foot in front of Cartman, Kyle returned the other boy's smirk and shoved his hand in his face, flicking his index finger up to start. "Okay, one, I'm not going to be alone in a classroom with you."

Middle finger, "Two, you probably would perceive this as some kind of power trip."

Ring finger, "Three, you probably wouldn't even teach me anything."

Pinky, "Four, I can probably teach this to myself."

Thumb, "Five, Mrs. Anke has no idea about our history."

Raising his second hand, he continued, "Six, I'm not even going to go into your whole Nazi fascination thing. Seven, you've probably have had a wet dream about this. Eight, I could be doing better things. Nine, I'm hungry. And ten–"

Kyle suddenly paused, frowning as if he was scouring the depths of his mind for another one, and a moment later the look on his face signaled that he had come up with something too horrific to even contemplate. "You'll … ugh, you'll probably hit on me while you're helping me, and that would make me throw up."

Cartman narrowed his eyes, thoroughly impressed but knowing he could counter each one of those claims with his own. Holding back a bemused laugh and crossing his arms, he tried extremely hard to maintain a neutral expression before replying.

"One? You're not really alone." He nodded to the back of the classroom. "The walls are paper thin and if for some reason I attacked you, someone would hear and come in here to stop it."

"Two, this is my job now. So no, I don't see it as a power trip; I get paid for it," he snapped, taking a deep breath as he stared ahead, feigning boredom. "Three, I'm near fluent. Four, don't make me laugh. Five–"

Cartman paused, thinking for a moment before shrugging and rolling his eyes. "Well I think you're right, Frau Anke has no clue."

"Six…" He tried to recall what Kyle's sixth reason had been, and suddenly remembered with a chortle. "Heh, you have no idea what you're even _talking_ about."

Shifting his weight to his other foot, Cartman started tapping his fingers against his arm before remembering the next one. "Seven, the wet dream thing?" He shot Kyle a look, curious as to why that had even crossed the other boy's mind, but he unfortunately could neither confirm nor deny that accusation.

He settled on, "I think it's weird that you even brought that _up_."

Eric mimicked Kyle's little raised finger ticks as he got to the last three. "Eight, something better to do? Hah! Like what? Stalk Stan?"

He shook his head judgmentally. "Nine?  It won't take the whole lunch period, so don't worry your little Jew head – or stomach, whatever. And ten–"

Cartman grinned, lowering his eyelids suggestively before saying, "Now we'll just see about that…"

Kyle seemed taken aback, clutching at his book and shifting his eyes nervously before shooting back, "Well, your tenth explanation is why I'm leaving."

Immediately stepping sideways, Cartman blocked Kyle's path with his gut and shot back almost sincerely, "Kyle, Frau Anke told me you dozed off in class and you didn't retain a thing. Don't you want some help?"

"Not from you. I'll ask Frau Anke's son, Franz," Kyle answered astutely.

Cartman thought quick. "Okay, okay. How about this, if I don't help you pass this class with flying colors, you'll never see me again. I solemnly swear this on everything I've ever held sacred."

Kyle stopped. That offer sounded almost too good to be true. Sighing, he realized that he really did need help and he had no idea where Franz was anyway. Not only that, but Frau Anke was concerned and as much as he hated to admit it, Cartman _could_ help. The bastard was getting paid for it, and if he tried anything funny Kyle could just tell Frau Anke and she would fire his sorry ass. "Like I really trust you to keep your word, but this is just too amazing to pass up. So you swear it on, say, _your fucked up Nazi ethics_?"

"Sure, if you think I hold that sacred. Fine." Cartman brushed off Kyle's "insult" like a pesky insect flying around his face.

Kyle sighed the biggest sigh he'd sighed that day, turning around to sit back down in defeat. "Well, let's start. It can't be that difficult."

Cartman loved himself so much at that moment that he followed after Kyle with a giddy skip to his step. "Okay then, what do you know so far?"

"Nothing, I dozed off the entire class remember?" Kyle crossed his arms, staring defiantly at the boy now sitting across from him.

"Okay, do you know like … the whole 'My name is' thing?"

"No."

"Ich heiße Eric Cartman."

"Come again?"

"Ich heiße…" Cartman motioned for him to take notes, watching merrily as Kyle hurriedly picked up a pencil and started writing.

"How do you even write that?" Kyle asked in frustration.

"I-C-H, H-E-I, s-set, E…" Cartman spelled out eagerly, thinking to himself, _Oh god, I'm getting_ paid _to treat Kyle like an invalid._

"S-set?" Kyle glanced up from his notes.

Cartman knew he would ask this question and sighed as he explained, "You know… that B thing."

Kyle appeared to know what he was talking about. "So 'Eech haibeh'…"

" _Sss_ … you pronounce it with a _sss_ sound." Cartman reached across the desk and gently took Kyle's notebook, scratching out Kyle's "heiBe" and substituting his own, proper "heiße". He also added a little sidenote saying "like sss" for convenience.

Handing back Kyle's notebook, he watched as the redhead snatched it back and read expertly, "Ich heiße Kyle Broflovski."

Cartman grinned maliciously.

* * *

Wrapping up in the nick of time, Cartman was shocked to find that Kyle had actually gotten through all the basics. He knew he was an efficient teacher, but he hadn't expected the Jew to pick up as much as he had in one fucking sitting.

No wonder he was considered the "smart one". Cartman was starting to think there was something to Kyle's claims that he would be at his level by the end of the semester. Kyle didn't even seem too put off by his lesson, which was good since Eric had enjoyed every single second he'd spent lecturing to the fuckhead.

Surprisingly enough, Kyle was just as hungry for German vocabulary as he was for lunch and allowed Cartman to continue their session on the way to the cafeteria.

"So what's after 'ten'? I don't want to get home and realize that you intentionally left something out of the homework for the lolz," Kyle added with a huff, walking next to Cartman as they headed up to the second floor.

"Elf, zwolf, I'll cover it in our next session. I know what your homework is, remember? I've taken this easy-ass class too. It's only greetings and one through ten – which we covered, and you did quite well on, Jewface," Cartman praised, offering Kyle a little side-smirk before directing his attention towards the lunch room door. "For now, you should be more concerned about where you're going to sit."

"Well, it won't be anywhere near Stan," Kyle replied snippily, the answer a no-brainer. "Kenny wouldn't sit near that bastard either, so I'll sit with him."

"Don't get so defensive, Jesus Christ. I just know we all used to sit together and that's obviously not happening anymore, so I'm wondering where the fuck Stan and Wendy are going to be," Cartman said, holding the door open for the flustered redhead.

"Like I give a flying fuck," Kyle retorted. Cartman hummed in agreement.

They stepped into the lunchroom and were greeted with stares almost immediately. It was like a repeat of the courtyard that morning, but this time the stares were accompanied by a sickening hush that fell over the crowd like seeping gas. Cartman noticed that the most awkward stares were actually coming from Stan's little goth friends who had their own table in the back. The guys were staring down Kyle, but for some reason the fat goth girl was directing her death glare at _him_. It was like she knew everything about him and all his cruel intentions.

As weird as she was, and as much as he wanted to go over there and punch her white-painted face in, Cartman instead laid a hand on Kyle's shoulder and muttered, "It's like you're some fucking celebrity. I need to get in the lunch line, but good luck finding Ken."

Kyle had no idea why Cartman cared so much, so he shrugged off the hand and plucked his cute little mommy-approved Kosher lunch out of his book bag. "Yeah, whatever, go ahead."

Cartman did not appreciate being shooed away like that, but he was less pissed off than he was fucking starving. He made a face at Kyle as the Jew hurried away, then turned around and headed for the hot lunch line to pick up his prepaid double meal. Since it was the first day of school, they were actually serving good shit. He was excited as all hell about stuffing his face full until, of course, he heard a familiar nagging voice come from behind.

"Ich hörte, dass Ihr Onkel South Park besichtigen wird, um seine Rache zu erhalten. (I heard that your uncle is going to visit South Park to carry out his revenge.)"

Flinging his eyes open, Cartman whipped his head around to glare at the blond-haired, blue-eyed, crew-cut boy standing behind him. The boy's name was Franz Jackson, and Cartman thought he was one of the most annoying people on the face of the planet. "Wirklich? Wo hast du das gehört? (Really? Where did you hear that?)"

"Glaubst du es nicht? Mein Vater sagte mir heute morgen; rechnen er Todesdrohungen mit. Ich glaube, dass dein Onkel nach ihnen fungieren würde. (You don't believe it? My father told me this morning; he's expecting death threats. I believe that your uncle would follow through with them)," Franz answered pointedly. They were starting to get freaked out glances from the students around them; an argument in heated German was not something these redneck kids were exposed to on a daily basis.

"Was meinst du, was ich tun soll? Ich kann ihn nicht halten, selbst wenn ich es wünschte. Ich helfe ihm nicht, aber ich habe keine Ahnung, über was du sprichst. (What do you want me to do? I couldn't stop him even if I wanted to. I don't plan on helping him, but I still have no idea what you're talking about.)"

Franz frowned, staring daggers into the larger boy before snapping back, "Wenn dein Onkel etwas tut, wird es zu spät sein. Und du könntest ihn gestoppt haben. Denk daran. (By the time your uncle does something, it'll be too late. And you could have stopped him, you think about that.)"

Deciding not to grace Franz's concerns with a response, Cartman grabbed his lunch tray and briskly walked away. Thanks to Kyle's red hair he could spot their table in no time at all, but Kenny's eyes were on him the moment he neared it and pulled out a chair.

"Choose another table Cartman, you're not sitting here today."

"Like I'd listen to you, poor boy," Cartman scoffed, giving his best friend a flat expression as he plopped  down next to a very aggravated-looking Kyle. The others, Craig, Tweek, Thomas, Token, and Jimmy, didn't seem to care much one way or the other.

"You're not doing anyone any favors by sitting here, so go sit with Butters." Kenny nodded towards a table in the distance, one basically considered the "outcast" table by the rest of the male student body. Seated there was an enthusiastic Butters Stotch, Dougie Miller, Scott Malkinson, Leeroy Jenkins, and Terry Mephesto with his best friend and loyal fag hag, Samantha Durnskin.

"How about _you_ go sit with Butters and his geeky friends? Lord knows how much Samantha Queefmaster Durnskin wants your scrawny-ass bod," he snickered, throwing the insult back at Kenny.

"I'll show you 'scrawny-ass bod'." Kenny threw a book at Cartman's fat head, catching him square center in the forehead. Kyle laughed.

"Thought that was funny?" Kenny cheered, glad he could get Kyle to lighten up some. "Would you get out of your slump if I went over there and kicked the shit out of him?"

Kyle didn't respond right away. He was too busy picking at his lunch and staring straight ahead in the other direction. "Huh? Yeah, that would be cool."

Cartman immediately picked up on Kyle's distracted behavior, scanning the room to see what had caused the sudden mood change. All it took was one sweep of the cafeteria for Cartman to spot the source of Kyle's discomfort. His argument with Kenny had apparently attracted the attention of a certain someone seated at the Junior Varsity Football lunch table.

Stanley-fucking-Marsh, who was _still_ gazing at his ex, suddenly caught Cartman looking over and naturally turned his attention to him.

As soon they locked eyes, Cartman captured Stan in an aggressively competitive staring contest. His glare permeated the other boy in such a crippling way that the fucker couldn't avert his gaze, even though he could tell Stan was growing more uncomfortable with every passing second. He could only look on, frozen by Cartman's unfeeling, murderous, and deathly cold expression.

Realizing that he was winning this ridiculous game, Cartman gave Stan a victorious grin and decided to piss him off even further. Still keeping Stan in his glare, he threw one of his arms over Kyle's shoulders to rub salt in his wounds. Though Kyle shuddered at first, he didn't move or shove him off right away, opting instead to follow the direction of Cartman's stare to see what the hell was going on.

A second later, Cartman heard Kyle harrumph triumphantly, and that was, hands down, the best part of the whole exchange.

"Alright, you can stop touching me now. Stan's plenty pissed, congratulations." Kyle smiled placidly, taking his time moving out of the larger boy's hold.

"Anytime. It's my pleasure," Cartman replied, sounding plenty pleased with himself as he shot Kenny a look screaming 'I told you so'. Picking a couple of fries off his plate, he smothered them in ketchup before changing the subject with, "So, Jew–"

Kyle interrupted, "Jewface, Jewboy, do you ever call me by my first name anymore?"

"Have you?"

"Touché."

"Anyway, judging by how enthused you were during our lesson, we should hang more! Seriously, like, talk about how much Stan sucks and get you speaking better German," Cartman offered, proceeding with his previously established plan as he downed a handful of fries.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, fatass. I hate you, remember? And I can survive German class by myself, thank you," Kyle shot Cartman down, but he still bore that pleased smile on his face. Cartman knew that he had his foot in the door, and that was all he needed to make this work.

"Your loss!" he announced, opening his can of Coke before continuing to poke fun at his favorite redhead. "Have fun feeding the trolls on Reddit, since that's all you've been doing lately. I thought you might want to spice things up a bit and stop being such a basement dweller! You're called a 'daywalker' for a reason, you should take advantage of that."

"Daywalker or not, I'd be feeding the _biggest_ troll if I willingly decided to devote my time to _you,_ lardass." With that, Kyle finished the last bite of his meal, gathered his belongings, and gave a polite wave to the rest of the table.

After standing up, he glanced over toward Cartman and caught him in a challenging stare of his own. "Offveedersayn Cartman."

At the sound of Kyle's adorable German, the brunet felt something bubble in his chest. His gaze softened as he shook his head, and as his Jew turned to leave he answered, "Auf Wieder Sehen, Kyle."

Being the fucker he was, Cartman ended up staring at the departing redhead for a little longer than necessary, and his skin began to prickle as that feeling in his chest went straight to his pants.

Kenny, not missing a beat, noticed this almost immediately and wordlessly thwacked him upside the head.

Snapping out of it, Cartman shoved his best friend in retaliation and went back to eating. The only thing on his mind then was how badly he wanted to make this plan work.

No matter what the cost, he _would_ get Kyle dependant on him.

* * *

Though Cartman could usually hold off on any "urges" he experienced throughout the day, hearing Kyle speak German - after having taught it to him _himself_ \- was something Cartman couldn't help but relish in.

To celebrate, he decided to hurry up with his lunch and pay the empty stage powder room a visit. The auditorium housed the school's only concert piano, and being one of the school's few master-class piano students, he had a key. This had come in handy several times before, and he hadn't gotten caught yet! Not like the janitor he'd walked in on once, now that was gross.

When he reached the stage door, however, he heard the principal on the opposite side speaking to the dumbass freshman class about responsibility and "growing up" bullshit. In his lust-induced rush, Cartman had forgotten that they had orientation for the fuckheads in the auditorium on the first day of school, which meant he'd now have to settle for rubbing out a quick one in the men's room.

The best response to this unexpected change of plans was, of course, to kick the thing nearest to him. But as Cartman's foot hit the cheap reconstructed wood door, he suddenly heard the bell to end lunch ring out from the speakers, as though the school had taken note of his frustration and decided to spite him even further. Groaning to himself, he adjusted his tightening pants and seethed down the halls to his last class, Advanced German.

Being the German Club Secretary, Cartman already knew who was going to be in his class so he didn't bother attempting to mask his aggravation before entering the classroom. He stormed inside, keeping his eyes on his desk in the center of the classroom and paying no mind to the other occupants of the room.

"Du bist spät. (You're late)," quipped a familiar boy with dark skin, throwing a paper airplane at Cartman's head before sliding his modified rave-goggles back on top his head. His name was Luke Covina, and he had a passion for chemistry and the party scene in Berlin. He was also the German Club Treasurer, and as such knew the other elected members well.

Batting the paper plane away, Cartman shot Luke a venomous scowl before taking his seat. The other classmates snickered at Cartman's blatant frustration. "Sei ruhe. Was? Habe ich was verpasst? (Be quiet. What? Have I missed something?)"

"Eric, Liebling. (Eric, dear)," Frau Anke muttered in a worried tone, her hand resting over her mouth as she read a newspaper that Franz, the German Club President, had just given her. "Haben Sie eine Zeitung lesen? (Have you read a newspaper?)"

Franz chimed in, "Dein Onkel– (Your uncle–)"

"Ist ein Scheisskerl, wir wissen das. (Is an asshole, we know that)," Cartman cut him off.

"Ja, aber Eric... (Yes, but Eric...)" Frau Anke raised the paper over her desk, offering it to Cartman so he too could be informed. "Letze woche, er wurde aus dem Gefängnis entlassen. (Last week, he was let out of prison.)"

 _What._ Cartman was so taken aback that he didn't immediately register what he'd just heard. Getting up to retrieve the paper, he momentarily recalled something his mother had said to him earlier this summer, something about it being 35 years ago this year that his uncle was incarcerated ... and that he had a 35 year sentence. Finally putting two and two together, he suddenly realized why she was so worried about that letter he got the other week.

"Warum sollte dies in einer Zeitung sein? (Why would this be in a newspaper?)" With his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach, Cartman was reduced to just blinking at the article in disbelief.

"Das mit ihrem Onkel ist eine große Neuigkeit. Ich meine, er war nicht auf der ersten Seite, aber es gibt einen Artikel. (Your uncle is pretty big news. I mean, he's not on the front page, but he has an article)," Frau Anke explained, Cartman still completely blown away. "Ich dachte, du wirst den Durchblick haben. Er schickt dir so viele Briefe. (I thought you'd be in the know. He writes you so many letters.)"

Cartman was shocked. He knew his uncle was going to be let out one day, but he didn't expect it to happen at the same time his Kyle plan was taking root. Those were two streams that did NOT need to cross.

"Du wirst dich ihm nicht anschließen, oder? (You're not going to join him, are you?)" Franz piped up, but quickly discovered that was the wrong question to ask.

The larger boy immediately crumpled the paper and proceeded to ball it up in his massive, unforgiving fists, readying to chuck the whole thing at the fucker's head. **"Wirklich? Du glaubst, ich würde mich ihm anschließen?** ( **Really? You really think I would join him?** ) **"**

Above Franz's fear-stricken silence came a light-hearted voice, unfettered and unashamed in its jesting lilt: "Ja, du scheinst sicher dreist genug. (Yeah, you certainly seem brash enough.)"

The voice belonged to the only person in their small class who Cartman didn't recognize. A girl seated in the back of the classroom, her pale tufts of hair flowing out from beneath a stately black cap positioned slightly askew on her inquisitively tilted head. Cartman didn't know it then, but he had just met the new German exchange student and current German Club Vice President, Ulla Hiller.

Just as he was about to teach that sorry ass a hard lesson, Mrs. Anke stopped him by gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "Laß sie. Sie weiß es nicht. (Leave her be. She doesn't know)."

The girl snickered at his daunting grimace, shrugging her shoulders before chirping out a last minute introduction in a thick German accent: "Ich heiße übrigens Ulla. (I'm Ulla, by the way.)"

Cartman cracked his knuckles. Hoping to intimidate the catty twit, he kept his dark gaze on her and grumbled, "Ich glaube, ich brauche keine Einführung. (I guess I need no introduction.)"

"Setzten sie sich, Eric. Wir sprechen später darüber. Klasse beginnt. (Sit down, Eric. We'll talk later. Class is starting)," Frau Anke instructed.

Cartman reluctantly complied, stomping back to his stately desk but keeping his eyes narrowed on Ulla's cheeky, smiling face. The German Club Historian, Bert, was the only student not staring him down, and that was only because he was too wrapped up in how delicious his Hörnchen tasted to care. It was only after everything had settled down and Frau Anke had started her lesson that he greeted Cartman with a muttered, "W'gehts? (Sup?)"

"Hm," Cartman grunted back. He couldn't be damned enough to give the even larger boy a proper response, but fuck he could really use one of those pastries right about then. No wonder the kid was so fat; his family owned the best fucking German bakery in Colorado. Cartman was pretty sure he'd be diabetic by now if he was in Bert's position, just like someone else he knew.

 _Fuck,_ he cursed to himself, remembering the reason he was so pissed off in the first place. Now he was horny, horrified, and hungry all over again – not to mention livid as all hell at the chick still laughing at him from behind. Cartman thought sitting through a class with the other four German Club officials would be a piece of cake, but the only cake he could see was currently being devoured by the even fatter fuck next to him.

* * *

While the rest of German Club held an impromptu meeting at the end of class, Cartman ducked out to avoid further conversation about his family affairs – which were bound to come up again one way or another. Why Franz had to bring it up in class was beyond him, even if his mom _was_ the teacher and his family _was_ bound to be on his uncle's shit list. But did the other fucks really need to know about it?

Like that smartass exchange student in the back, what did she have to do with anything? Cartman still couldn't get over how that girl had laughed at him as if he were the biggest idiot she had ever met in her life. The nerve of that blonde-haired, blue-eyed, curl-lipped wench!

What pissed him off even more was that he still had to take the bus to and from school. He only needed another 10 hours of experience to get a driver's license and his mother, for some ungodly reason, would not lie about how much they actually drove together. He was sure there was no real way the people at the DMV could check anyway, so he chalked it up to his mother prolonging the torture for her own amusement – aka fucking him up the ass again.

As much as Cartman wanted to complain, however, riding the bus also meant more opportunities to engage in conversation with Kyle. Their German lesson today, on the first day of school no less, had been more than he could have ever hoped for. The only thing that could make this better was if Kyle kept dozing off during class so the lessons could continue, maybe on a daily basis even.

That would certainly speed up the process.

Fortunately for Cartman, banking on Kyle's continued listlessness was seemingly a smart investment this semester. Even as the redhead approached the bus to finally go home after a presumably wretched day, he looked absolutely miserable. His eyes were baggy, his skin was clammy, and his hair lacked that healthy bounce to it as he stepped up onto the platform.

One would think he'd be happy to finally be getting out of school, but Cartman supposed that the day wasn't technically over. He decided he'd try to cheer him up in his own charming way.

" _You_ look pissed."  

Kyle stopped dead in his tracks, giving Cartman a hard look before throwing his bag into the seat behind him. "In between the whole school chattering about my fight with Stan and you annoying the fuck out of me, yeah I'm pretty pissed."

"Annoying the fuck out of you?" Cartman scoffed, holding his hand to his chest as if stun by Kyle's response. "Is that the thanks I get for tutoring you in German today?"

"It wasn't really tutoring, more like you were filling me in. I could have always gotten the notes from someone in class, you know. I just wanted to humor you, since you obviously just wanted to impress me. It was adorably pathetic. I needed the laugh," Kyle added.

Cartman rolled his eyes. "Impress you? Please. Even if that was my motive – which it's totally not, gross – there are better ways to go about that without taking advantage of how uncharacteristically morose you've been acting."

Turning around in his seat, he threw his arm over the back to give Kyle a suggestive look. "I bet it wouldn't take much either. Heh, you'd be impressed with nearly anything after dating someone as painstakingly average as Stanley-fucking-Marsh."

"Fuck you!" Kyle kicked the back of Cartman's seat, causing the larger boy to lurch forward as the bus started moving. "There's a difference between being fed up and being depressed. You don't see me crying in a bathroom stall or going to some deadbeat therapist, I know what I'm doing! Kenny confirmed my suspicions that you're up to your old tricks again, so I know you're just biding your time."

"My 'old tricks'? What the fuck are you even talking about?" Cartman feigned ignorance, reminding himself to kick Kenny's ass later. "Do you really think I'd waste my time kicking a dog when it's down? Let's be honest here, Kyle. For all the traits you have ever known me for, was _patient_ ever one of them? If I wanted to screw you over, I would have already done it _weeks_ ago when I first found out about this shit show!"

"Yeah, and you tried when you barged into my house. Didn't work then, did it?" Kyle combated, keeping his foot on the seat in case Cartman tried to turn around again. "Besides, even if that were all true and you were really just trying to be my friend, you've fucked me over way too many times for me to accept your intentions as genuine."

After a second or two of glaring at the other boy, however, Kyle suddenly let up and took a deep breath. "I appreciate you pissing off Stan in the cafeteria, and I also appreciate you helping me with German, but I would appreciate it even more if you would just stop trying to do … whatever it is you're trying to do, okay?" he concluded by offering the other boy a sincere look.

Cartman responded by using his own serious voice. "I'm not _trying_ to do anything. I'm just as mad at Stan as you are, and when it comes to me helping you with German, well, that's my job now. You're just along for the ride, it seems." He started digging through his bag for his headphones. "I think you and Kenny are just being paranoid."

Kyle didn't respond, and Cartman knew that the discussion was over. He wondered what it was going to take for Kyle to finally fucking trust him. The plan to bring his nemesis to a new low was still in motion, but Cartman felt like the actual methodology of said plan couldn't be set in stone yet due to how unpredictable everything was at this point.  Whatever the method, the timing would have to be perfect and it would have to happen naturally. He couldn't push the issue or Kyle would get suspicious, and everything was just now falling into place. Cartman could tell that Kyle wasn't buying it, but he could also tell that Kyle wasn't necessarily gone,either.

So it was looking like he _did_ need to be patient. How ironic.

When their stop came, Cartman followed Kyle off the bus and watched him walk onto his yard. Unexpectedly, Kyle suddenly turned back to look at him. Caught off guard, Cartman kept his eyes locked in to the other boy's unusual stare. No recognizable emotion passed through either's gaze, but neither gaze faltered. After a few moments Kyle was the one who ended up breaking away, but Cartman kept his focus on the redhead until he was inside the house and out of sight.

 _This isn't happening fast enough,_ Cartman thought to himself as he turned to his iPhone, searching for the right song to match how Kyle's demise was currently playing out in his head. All he could think about was the moment Kyle would break down and realize that his worst enemy was the only person he had left to turn to. In due time, Cartman would make himself Kyle's sole reason for being. Above all else, he'd make sure of that.

Two minutes of daydreaming later, Cartman finally arrived home and wasted no time in getting himself inside.

"Hey, hon! Back so soon?" Liane perked up from the couch, surprised her son was already home. "I thought you'd have your first meeting with the German Club today. I read in the school's newsletter that Ernst and Anke were hosting a new excha-"

"It's no problem, Mom. I didn't have to stay after. I have a lot of homework for AP History tonight, anyway," Cartman cut her off, running upstairs with only one thing on his to-do list. "Do you mind making dinner early? I'm starving. How about stroganoff?

"Alright then. We'll talk later." She closed her book, heading off into the kitchen and looking a tad disappointed.

Cartman paid her no mind. He was already locked inside his room and rushing over to his computer to open iTunes, hovering over the screen until he found the playlist he was looking for – "1942".

Finding it, he hummed a satisfied "hmph" before clicking on the first song. Then, as "Du Hast" started to play, the brunet rolled his eyes back into his head and collapsed onto his bed, curling into a comfortable ball as his mind started to wander – as did his hand.

* * *

_1942 – Sturmbannführer Erich Kartmann's battalion was headed east towards Warsaw after receiving orders from Berlin to relocate to an already occupied area. They were originally supposed to travel north to assist another battalion currently holding back Soviets, but apparently there were more pressing matters. So he changed their direction in order to meet with the other troops._

_On the way, they made camp in a seemingly empty town where their soldiers took occupancy in seemingly abandoned houses. Though some may have had residents still housed inside, one thing was for sure: there weren't going to be any left._

_Looking for a way to pass the hours before sleep, Erich and his two accompanying Hauptsturmführers Gary Harrison and Clyde Donovan walked into the local tavern to see if anyone was serving drinks._

" _Guck mal! Da ist ein Barkeeper! (Hey look! There's a barkeeper!)" Gary shouted, rushing over to the bar and leaning into the face of the shaking bartender. "Sprichst du Deutsch_? _(Do you speak German?)"_

" _Ein … bisschen. (A … little)," he muttered, watching the other two officers take a seat as Gary kept talking._

" _So ein schöner Mann, wie heißt du?(Such a handsome man, what's your name?)" Gary reached over to brush aside a lock of hair covering the bartender's face._

_Shuddering, the bartender tried to ignore the Nazi's obvious passes while answering, "Stanisław…"_

_Gary continued petting and twirling his hair between his fingers. "Er hat blaue Augen, aber so dunkles Haar… eine Schande wirklich. (He has blue eyes but such dark hair… a shame really.)"_

_"Es ist mir egal wie er aussieht, kann er gute Getränke mixen? (I don't care what he looks like, can he make a good drink?)" Clyde snapped._

_The bartender breathed a sigh of relief once Gary stopped, glancing towards Erich as he asked nervously, "Was kann ich ihnen bringen? (What can I get you guys?)"_

" _Pils. (Beer)," Erich stated simply, looking to the other two men who nodded in agreement. "Für alle. (For all of us)."_

_As soon as the bartender started working on their drinks, Gary sensed that something was awry. He'd felt this type of stillness before, an intentional silence. The kind of silence he'd felt when he cleared the ghetto in Kraków._

" _Sturmbannführer," Gary whispered to Erich, "die Ruhe hier. Er versteckt jemanden. (The quiet here. He's hiding someone.) "_

" _Ich stimme zu. Unter uns. Unten. Ich kann das Rascheln von Kleidung hören. (I agree. Under us. I can hear the rustling of their clothes)," Erich muttered back, keeping his eyes focused on the fumbling bartender._

_Gary smirked, growing excited at the thought of a possible bust."Juden vielleicht? (Maybe Jews?)"_

_The bartender didn't know much German, but he understood Gary's accusation crystal clear. He dropped the glasses, ducked behind the bar, and made a beeline for the door, but Clyde's pistol caught him before he could make it off the porch._

_A cry came from the basement. An older woman._

_Temporarily forgetting about the stowaways beneath the floor, Gary got up from the bar and ran out to inspect the bartender's body. "Clyde! Warum hast du ihn getötet? Ich hatte Pläne! (Clyde! Why'd you kill him? I had plans!)"_

" _Er versteckte Juden! (He's hiding Jews!)" Clyde shouted back, searching for the door to get downstairs._

" _Halt die Schnauze und geh die Treppe hinunter! Gary gehen Sie mit ihm! (Shut up and get downstairs! Gary, go with him!)" Erich instructed, cocking back his pistol for emphasis._

_Gary was too busy mourning, running a finger across the dead bartender's bloody lips. "Er war so toll! (He was so cool!)"_

" ** _Jetzt Gary_** _. ( **Now Gary** )," Erich commanded. _

_Kissing the deceased bartender's head, Gary whipped out his own pistol and sprinted back into the bar, passing Erich on his way. "Jene Juden sind tot… meine Pläne zu unterbrechen. (Those Jews are dead… my plans are ruined.)"_

_In the meantime, Erich sat back down at the bar and proceeded to drink from the one beer the bartender had managed to make. As he downed his drink, he enjoyed the sounds of Clyde finding the basement door and Gary screaming, "STERBT JUDEN! (DIE JEWS!)" before they made their way downstairs._

_Shots and cries followed. Music to his ears._

_Yet as he was about to finish his drink, he heard the sound of someone running back upstairs._

_"Stop! Komm zurück! (Stop! Come back!)" Clyde shouted._

_Erich turned around in time to see a young man fly past him, his red hair whisking past him like a candle's flame._

_"HALT JUDE! (STOP JEW!)" both his Hauptsturmführers called out in pursuit._

_Rising from his barstool, Erich felt his jaw go slack as he watched the fleeing Jew in awe. Intrigued, he followed his men outside to where they had the boy cornered, stepping over the bartender's dead body on the way over._

" _Wir haben keine Kugeln mehr. Was sollen wir mit ihm tun? (We ran out of bullets. What should we do with him?)" Clyde asked, his gun still pointed at the boy's head._

_Erich peered down at the redhead, and suddenly they locked gazes. To his surprise, the boy wasn't afraid. If anything, he looked defiant. His enraged green eyes taunted him as if to say "_ _Go ahead and shoot me"._

" _Nichts. (Nothing)," Erich replied._

 _Gary and Clyde abruptly turned their heads in confusion. "Aber_ _Sturmbannführer… er ist ein-"_

_"Gehen Sie zu einem Haus und schlafen. Überlassen sie ihn mir. (Go back inside and sleep. Leave him to me)," Erich instructed, maintaining eye contact with the red-haired boy still staring back with such fierce determination._

_Gary grinned at Clyde knowingly, but the other boy had no idea what was going on. "Ja wohl! Viel spaß! (Understood! Have fun!)" He obeyed, tugging the other Hauptsturmführer away._

_Once they were finally alone, Erich cracked a smile and asked, "Sprichst du Deutsch? (Do you speak German?)"_

_The boy didn't avert his gaze even once. "Nein."_

_"Was kannst du sprechen?(What can you speak?)"_

_Blinking once, the red-haired boy tilted his head to the side. He kept his eyes on the daunting figure before him, but clearly had not understood the question._

_"English?" Erich added._

_The boy finally nodded. "Yes."_

_"What is your name?"_

_The redhead pursed his lips as he tried to decide whether or not to tell the truth, but after a few seconds of consideration he answered, "Kyle Broflovski."_

_Erich smirked. "Do you realize I just saved your life?"_

_"Did you?" Kyle questioned disbelievingly._

_Lowering his eyelids, Erich crossed his arms and looked to the snowy streets surrounding them. "You are alive, are you not?"_

_Glancing downwards, Kyle took a moment to collect himself before slowly getting back to his feet. "What do you want from me?"_

_Erich used the opportunity to look the boy over, unconsciously nodding in approval before muttering, "Was that your family?"_

_Glancing back to the bar, Kyle swallowed the sob forming in his throat so he could answer clearly, "Yes."_

_"Well, do you have anywhere else to go?" Erich kept it up, deriving a sick pleasure from the onslaught of painful questions._

_The boy shook his head, realization settling in as he quietly responded, "No, I–"_

_"Then you should stay with me tonight," Erich butted in, taking his first step towards the red-haired boy. "I have no one to stay with tonight as well."_

_Kyle swallowed again, meeting Erich's stare once more as he asked him outright, "Did you order those men to shoot my family?"_

_Erich shook his head. "No."_

_"Why did you save me?"_

_Disgusted by that question, Erich frowned and suddenly closed the gap between them. "Why would you ask me that? Do you_ want _to die? Because–" He reached for his own pistol, holding it to Kyle's head. "I can easily oblige."_

_As the color escaped from his already pale face, Kyle dropped back down to the ground and finally broke. "I don't see why not, I have nothing to live for!"_

_"Then you made me waste my time, I should kill you for that alone!" Erich cocked his gun._

_Kyle continued to sob. "Everyone I ever loved is dead. Your men even killed Stanisław!"_

_Erich stopped. "Stanisław? The bartender?" He glanced back at the corpse, and then looked towards the boy below. "What was your relation to him? You look nothing alike."_

_Not wanting to sound any alarms, Kyle stalled by sniffing back more of his tears before looking back up. "He was my best friend."_

_But Erich knew better. "Best friend huh? He bailed on you, how does that make you feel?"_

_The redhead shuddered one last time, curling up in the fetal position as he cried out, "Abandoned."_

_Erich put his gun away, knowing he wouldn't need it now that the boy was thoroughly broken.  "Come on Jew. Let's go get some rest."_

_He offered the redhead a hand, standing just one foot in front of Kyle's wailing body._

_Lifting his frozen, tear-streaked face up from the ground, Kyle looked back up and saw that the Nazi was reaching out for him. He didn't want to take his hand, but he had nothing left. If Kyle refused, the fucker was probably just going to shoot him anyway. But if Kyle accepted, who knew what might happen to him? The first option definitely ended with death, but the other option at least yielded some hope for him._

_Gulping down a good portion of his anxiety, Kyle found himself reluctantly reaching upwards._

_Erich smiled, trying to mask the hint of malice in his expression as he pulled the Jew to his feet._

_Silently, Kyle led Erich to a small house down the street. The only noise shared between them was the sound of their footsteps, or at least Erich's footsteps. His thick black leather boots completely covered the sound of Kyle's hesitant footfalls as they crunched through the thick crust of snow._

_Once in front of the quaint little cottage, Erich sneered at its rickety appearance and asked with disdain, "Whose house is this?"_

_"Stanisław's," Kyle mumbled, fetching a key out of his pocket._

_"Hm," Eric acknowledged unapologetically, keeping a watchful eye over the redhead as he opened the door with care._

_As they both entered, Erich could tell that the place was empty. Not only were there copious amounts of cobwebs hanging off the walls, but only two out of the four chairs at the dining table seemed to have seen any recent use. The picture above the fireplace showed a happy family of four, but obviously none of them were present._

_"Stanisław lived alone?" Erich asked openly._

_"This was his family's house. They all died when the Germans made their first pass through this town," Kyle answered sullenly._

_Motioning to the second chair, Erich lifted his brow skeptically as he inquired, "Did you live with him?"_

_"I visited often." Kyle mechanically hung his coat over the back of the chair in question, passing the larger boy on his way to an adjacent room. He stared blankly at the doorway._

_Erich's eyes followed the boy as he went, taking a moment to digest all this information before creeping up behind him. At first glance, the room appeared to be a single bedroom with a full-sized bed. "Is this where he slept?"_

_Kyle nodded slowly, moisture beginning to gather at the corners of his eyes._

_On his second glance, Erich noticed that both the left and right sides of the bed showed signs of previous occupancy. Tilting his face closer to the nape of Kyle's neck, he dared to venture a guess as to why._

_"You slept in that bed too, didn't you?"_

_Erich could feel Kyle tense as his hot breath hit the skin below his hairline, so he attempted to soothe him by massaging the other boy's shoulders. Unfortunately the gesture only seemed to startle the redhead, a gasp escaping his quivering lips once he  pieced together just how Erich intended to seek payment for saving his life._

_"What did Stanisław do to you in this bed?" Erich finally asked, pressing his arousal into the small of Kyle's back._

_Twisting himself out of Erich's hold, Kyle whipped around and spat on the Nazi's uniform. Clearly not giving a fuck about his safety anymore, he growled, "He fucked me."_

_Cracking a malicious grin, Erich immediately closed the gap between them by yanking on Kyle's unruly red curls to crash their mouths together, reveling in the clash of tongues and teeth before the other boy bit down on his lip in protest._

_Snarling in pain, Erich flung Kyle onto the bed in a frenzy before tasting a familiar coppery tang. He could tell the boy already regretted his actions, the defiant look on his face starting to sink as Erich glared back at him with his swollen, bloody lip. Kyle attempted to crawl away, tried to get off the bed and out the door in time to save himself, but Erich grabbed him by the wrist and tugged him back onto the mattress._

_There was no hope for him then. The next thing Kyle saw was a SS Sturmbannführer in full Nazi regalia hovering over him as droplets of blood speckled his face. They locked eyes and Erich knew right then that this image before him was the most beautiful sight that he would ever witness. Kissing him again with an aggressive grunt, he forced the boy to taste the blood from the wound he'd created, sliding his hand down to finally undo both their flies._

_Placing his hands on Kyle's hips, Eric slid the other boy's pants off his legs with unintentional gentility, throwing them to the side and inadvertently knocking a picture of Stanisław off the dresser._

_The only thing left for him to do was to claim his prize. Prepping the other boy for what was about to come, Erich could feel himself growing harder by the second from how infuriated and humiliated Kyle looked as he was tonguefucked for what was, judging by how badly he was failing to suppress his moans, the first time in his life._

_Kyle was erect then, and seemingly ready as he hungrily latched onto the fabric of Erich's jacket. Erich's bangs drooped down as he lined himself up and stared reverently at Kyle's heated face, ready to consume all that he was leaving nothing behind.  Just as he forcefully thrust himself inside, Kyle released a wild cry and ripped off his angry, blood red armband._

Taking in all these horrific images with sadistic pleasure, Cartman threw his head back onto his pillow as he finally shuddered his release. A few moments later he was taking deep breaths as he recovered from the powerful orgasm.

Above all his other fantasies, the World War II ones always brought him the most gratification. Cartman's dream was to eventually make them a reality, and he was convinced that he could do it and so much more once he had Kyle in the palm of his hand.

For now, though? The only thing in his hand was a goddamn tissue, and it would be that way until he could get the Jew to trust him. Cartman knew that reverence wouldn't come in one night, but one of these days he'd make sure that Kyle would … just as Kyle did in his head every time he pulled up this playlist and let his imagination run wild.

________________________________________

"Your flight is booked, sir."

Howard turned around, giving his henchman an affirmative nod as he unhitched the latches on his suitcase."Very good. Do I have a ride to the airport?"

"Naturally. You should be in South Park tomorrow."

"Yes, if circumstances allow. Please, I must make a phone call." Howard dismissed the man with a wave of his hand.

"Yes sir." The henchman walked out and closed the door to the older man's office.

Once he could no longer hear his henchman's footsteps echoing down the hall, Howard hobbled over to his desk and picked up the phone. Weakly bringing it up to his ear, he proceeded to punch in the digits of a telephone number he was given while he was in prison.

A second later the phone started to dial, ringing four times before a hauntingly nostalgic voice greeted him with, "Hello, Cartman residence."

"Liane…"

 


	5. A Determined Boy and a Faraway Rose

Nothing could rival the dreams that followed these time-traveling sex escapades that Eric had masterly crafted over the years.  He had built his own world out of it, hell he could even draw time tables and maps out of the scenarios he and Kyle played out in his head. So much so, that he considered keeping a journal of all the dreams he had of the two of them and adding them to his canon.  Even though his 7:30 alarm went off, his mind was still focused on the newest chapter that he created in his slumber-filled reverie the night before.  That outfit Kyle was wearing, with the newspaper boy cap and brown overcoat, he’d have to remember that get-up for next time.

Now his mom was knocking on his door. Christ, figures she could manage his schedule better than he could. Any sexy thoughts of Kyle bent over some desk during the height of a Polish winter were long gone, and with an aggravated sigh he was out of bed and into his meticulously planned outfit.  Eric always dressed to impress every single day of school, but the first week was extremely important when it came to charming his new teachers and intimidating his fellow classmates.

Speaking of fellow classmates, he wondered if there would be another showdown at the bus stop today.  Not wanting to miss out on such a glorious sight, Eric wolfed down the pancakes his mother lovingly prepared for him and bolted out the door. Liane didn’t even get a chance to serve him his usual second round.

As luck would have it, Stan and Kyle did in fact beat him to the bus stop. From the sound of it, they were already at each other’s throats. Not wanting to interrupt such a beautiful scene, Eric ducked behind a nearby Cyprus tree and listened into their ongoing argument.

"Bullshit, that’s why.” Stan shot back, shoving his hands into his pockets defensively. “I overheard Kenny saying that Cartman’s trying to manipulate you into something.”

"Yeah, so? What's new. Honestly.” Kyle replied sardonically.

Jockstrap almost immediately shot back. "So? What are you going to do about it?"

"Why the fuck are you so interested, anyway? Clearly that's none of your business anymore."

“Ugh.” Stan habitually pinched the bridge of his nose like the predictable and tiresome fuck he was, “So now I’m the bad guy because I want to help? God forbid I show any concer-” 

"Help? You want to help me _now_?” Kyle’s voice escalated as he moved in to yell into Stan’s face  “After fucking _abandoning_  me NOW comes the time you want to help me? _God forbid_  you want to help me when I’m fucking _destitute_  after you fucking ran out on me a week after school let out and we had already planned our whole fucking summer together. NOW you want to fucking help me?”

Stan just stood there like a lost fucking dog.

"Why NOW, huh? Because you’re afraid _big bad Cartman’s_  trying to move in on me?” Kyle glared on incredulously. “To be honest? I’d rather you _ignore my existence_  than reiterate the fact that you think I'm some weak fuck that can't handle his own problems. Let alone handle _Cartman_.”

Eric smirked, enticed by Kyle’s vigor as Stan stood by helplessly. He could hear the pathetic fucker speak up, "I never said-“

Kyle wouldn’t allow Stan to finish, "Yes! Yes you did, Stan! By bringing this shit up you’re essentially telling me you don’t think I can handle Cartman on my own.”

The redhead sighed, getting out of Stan’s face to take a deep breath. “You and Kenny need to back off. I mean really, have I ever had trouble taking care of myself? Let alone fending Cartman off - I’ve always managed to put him in his place.”

" _Always_?" Stan perked his brow, Eric also recalling the opposite taking place numerous times.

Kyle grumbled, seemingly in agreement but of course not wanting Stan fucking Marsh to know that. "Look. I can't talk to you about this - actually I _won't_  talk to you about this. Go away Stan."

Eric chuckled proudly at the way Kyle handled Stan’s nosy behavior. He was about ready to emerge from the tree and announce his presence to the both of them, but then he watched in horror as the black haired fucker rushed forward. 

Stan’s hands were suddenly on Kyle’s shoulders, actually _touching him_  before pleading into the other boy’s face. “Kyle, stop! I just wanted to talk this out!” 

"NO! Don't you understand?" Kyle shrugged away, Eric breathing a sigh of relief as the redhead shouted back at Stan. "It’s because of YOU that this is all even happening!”

Now Stan looked forlorn. "You know I didn't want t-" 

"What? Dump me?” Kyle interrupted abruptly. “You obviously did or else we wouldn’t be arguing about this now, wouldn't we?” 

Stan took another anxious step forward, "Kyle-"

"NO! Don't you 'Kyle' me.” Kyle actually pushed Stan back, Eric feeling his heart skip a beat at the redhead’s fervor. Seeing Kyle _this_  furious at Stan was a rare sight to behold; a sight Eric had waited too long to see. Taking it all in, Eric continued to hide behind the tree as he gazed on with a look of shock and awe.

“You messed up!” Kyle cried out, his face reddening and balled fists shaking at his sides. “You messed up and you're going to have to live with it. Just like I have to live with the fact that all my ' _friends_ ' -" Kyle did the little quotation hand gesture, "- are just people who want something out of me!"

Marsh shook his head for what seemed liked the hundredth time that morning. "Now that's not-"

"But that's okay.” Kyle cut his ex off yet again, trying to regain his composure, but visibly failing.

"Because I will get myself out of this. “ He nodded to himself, seemingly trying to convince himself as his head hung low. “That's how I'll feel better, if I pull myself out of this slump myself. I won't need anyone."

Eric could tell Kyle only spoke those words. He didn't feel them. Apparently Stan could tell too, because now he was approaching Kyle again, daring to lift his ex’s chin up to meet his face.

Then Eric felt something inside himself curdle.

Breathlessly, Stan stared into Kyle’s sunken eyes and asked, "What can I do Kyle? What can I do to take this pain I caused away?"

Eric watched in terror as Kyle calmly, almost instinctually, settled down and rested his forehead against Stan’s. His gut wrenched mercilessly as he watched the way Kyle’s eyes fluttered closed as he met with Stan’s mouth to murmur, "Just come back…”

Before Eric could begin to fathom how their argument escalated to this, they were kissing. Stan and Kyle were kissing in front of the bus stop - in front of the whole fucking neighborhood! And there HE was, hiding behind a fucking tree like some fucking two-rate voyeur – again. Eric could tell Kyle wanted that fucking kiss, his eyes still focused on the way Kyle’s tongue delved into Stan’s mouth as though it were desert oasis and he had been without water for days.

Watching this scene unfold disturbed Eric on a level he didn’t know how to process. Even more confusing was the fact that this kiss was no real shock to him at all. He knew very well that Stan and Kyle had these feelings for each other since the dawn of time. Hell, there was a real chance that they’ve probably already fucked. All things considered, this sort of shit should not be able to affect him this way. Yet there was no denying it, he was livid. Watching Stan’s hands travel from Kyle’s shoulders to the curve of his ass summoned a kind of anger inside him he had never experienced before.

Eric was seconds away from tearing that pathetic sack of shit limb from limb before he finally, and miraculously, heard someone speak up from the tangle of limbs.

 

 "Stop Stan."

 

But the fucker wasn’t stopping, his dastardly lips trailing down Kyle’s neck – uninvited - as he spoke through those dirty little kisses. "What? You want this don't you? Let's go back home and finish this...” 

"No. I _don't_  want this.” Kyle pushed away. “I'm so mad at you Stan, you have no idea. I won't go back to you until you can prove to me that you're sure enough to go through with this. Openly."

Stan scoffed, suddenly looking smug as fuck as he shot Kyle a suggestive look. "Well Kyle, if you let me take you to your room, I'll _show_ you.”

Eric clenched his teeth as he watched the fucker actually go in for a second kiss, but fortunately his Jew dodged out of the way in time.

"NO!" Kyle snapped before picking up his scarf that Stan had pulled off, wrapping it back around his exposed neck. "Fucking me won't cut it. You have to be serious about this!”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Well duh, Kyle. But that doesn’t mean we need to tell-" 

"That's it. You're pathetic, Stan.” Kyle threw his hands up in the air, turning on his heel to walk away.  “I don't know why I expected anything different.”

"No!” Stan cried out, managing to grab onto his jacket to spin him around. “Kyle, please!"

Kyle actually shrieked, "FUCK OFF!"

That shriek was all the motivation Eric needed to finally emerge from his hiding place.

 

" **HEY!"**

 

Stan and Kyle instantly stopped fighting and directed their attention his way, staring at the third boy wide-eyed and dumbfounded as they both came to the realization that they hadn’t been alone after all.

Eric could tell that Kyle was on the attack, but so was he. He had his own questions, but not ones Kyle could answer. Rather, his eyes focused on Stan, glaring at him with an accusatory glint in his eye as he zeroed in on his puny frame. "What the fuck do you think you're doing jock strap?"

Stan had that same predatory look to his gaze, sizing up Eric in return as they steadily paced towards each other. "What am _I_  doing? You’re the one emerging out of the trees like a peeping fucking tom, what the fuck do you think _you’re_  doing, fatass?"

"Answer my question first, asshole.” Eric combated, stopping only a foot in front of Stan to sneer coldly. “Why the sudden interest in your ex?”

Stan intensified his glare, nostrils flaring as he sneered back. “I could ask you the same thing!” 

Kyle scoffed audibly.

Eric laughed dismissively. "Like I really give a fuck about, Kyle. I might be his German tutor, but that’s all the business I have with him.” He lied, the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly bristling as another thought entered his already hysterical mind. “However, I seem to recall _you_  have business elsewhere with a certain _Class President_.”

"German tutor?” Stan asked, intentionally avoiding the part about ‘a certain Class President’ and instead turning to face Kyle. “Since when did you need a German tutor?”

Kyle opened his mouth to respond, but then sighed in exasperation. He settled on waving a hand in Stan’s direction, deciding it was less infuriating to go back to pretending that this wasn’t happening than to give a proper response.

That was all the proof Eric needed to know for sure that Stan clearly lost this battle. Eager to shove the asshole’s face in his defeat, Eric stepped forward to deliberately break the direct path Stan had to Kyle.  "Well, that pretty much says everything, now doesn’t it? Kyle’s clearly done with you, Marsh. You’re not even worth a fucking reply!” He smirked, wanting these next words to hurt just as deeply as that fucking kiss hurt him. “How does it feel knowing you ruined the best thing going for you?”

“ _Shut your god damn mouth_!” Stan attacked Eric, grabbing a hold of his coat to shove him against the bus stop sign.  His midnight blue eyes bore down on him dangerously, but it was obvious from the way they were shaking that something was broken from behind them. "Nothing’s _ruined_ , and nothing discussed here has _anything_  to do with you!”   

Eric laughed derisively, allowing his cackles to permeate the cold air before latching onto Stan’s forearms to abruptly switch positions. The slick conditions allowed for Eric to slide out of the other boy’s hold and whip him around, bashing Stan’s head against the bright yellow sign in retaliation.  As his rival was reeling, Eric slid in next to his ear and whispered dangerously. "Quite the contrary, Stanley. I overhead how the whoooole conversation started.” He smirked, suddenly sounding quite proud of himself. “You know, its pretty telling that you actually think I’m a _threat_  now. If this is none of my business, then this is clearly none of yours. I mean, I’ve pulled quite a few numbers on Kyle and he’ll still talk to me. Whatever you did? Must have truly _decimated_  him.” 

The brunet’s voice turned darker, still holding onto Stanley’s shaking fists as he growled his final retort. “Kudos, by the way. I’ve been trying to accomplish that for years! Figures all it would take is a piss-poor decision from a loser with no self-esteem! Come to think of it, no wonder I never achieved such a feat! I _certainly_  don’t make piss-poor decisions and I am CERTAINLY no fucking _los_ -”

 **CRACK!** The back of Stan’s head collided into Eric’s jaw. An explosion of pain instantly erupted inside his mouth as he helplessly felt his teeth crunch into the side of his cheek. 

“AUGH!” Eric cried out, blood spurting from his mouth before letting go of Stan.  The other boy used this opportunity to skirt out from underneath him, poised to deliver another blow just as deadly as the first.  Eric braced himself for a second blow, but then a voice sounded out from behind.

“Stop!” Kyle interjected, no longer able to pretend this wasn’t happening. “Jesus Fucking Christ, what the hell is fucking wrong with you two? Get a fucking life, both of you!”

With the bus approaching, Kyle turned to Stan first, furrowing his brow in disgust. “Stan? You’ve just proven to me _once again_  that you’re not ready for any sort of mature relationship.”

Eric grinned maliciously at the sound of Kyle’s voice beginning to crack coupled with the sight of Stan’s expression turning grave. Chuckling to himself, he proceeded follow Kyle onto the bus in victory, but was stopped by Kyle’s hand in his face.

“And Cartman? I never want to fucking see you again. Stop fucking stalking me and pretending you know what’s best for me. You’re only know what’s best for _you_.”

Suddenly at a loss of words, Eric’s enthusiasm began to flag and before he knew it, he was scowling. “Right. Because trying to do the right thing and getting punched in the fucking mouth as a result is _obviously_  what’s best for me.”

“It’s a fucking start!” Kyle snapped back, ferociously storming down the aisle before choosing an empty seat near the middle of the bus.  Stan passed them both in a frenzied rush as he made his way towards the back.

Keeping his focus directed at Kyle, Eric slammed his fist into the seat directly to his left before plopping down, digging out his iPod to drown out the sound of the chatter now beginning to emerge from the other seats. 

The fear-stricken freshman seated next to Eric, however, remained completely silent for the rest of the trip.

* * *

Eric wasn’t sure where he messed up; Kyle clearly didn’t want Stan going in for that second kiss and he clearly intervened at the right time! Wasn’t that kind of interference applauded in those circumstances? Eric could remember the silent look of awe and appreciation from the women he had saved from numerous rape attempts during his years as the Coon.  Never once did he receive the kind of backlash Kyle just dished out, so clearly the fucker was upset about something else.

 _I mean, he couldn’t have **really**  meant that_. Eric thought to himself on his way out of class. If he had a nickel for every time Kyle had told him “I never want to see you again”, he could probably buy his own country at this point and fulfill that request! Obviously, that outburst must have just been his Jew-rage talking.  Eric wasn’t about to let Stan fucking Marsh ruin their progress, or what was left of it.

First things first though, Eric needed to make some cash dollars by explaining to some dumb fucks why “Du hast” has a double meaning. Then perhaps he’d have another amusing-as-fuck staring contest with Stan Darsh at lunch.

Upon entering Frau Anke’s classroom, and to his utmost surprise, he spotted a familiar student paying his tutoring session another visit. Unsurprisingly, however, Kyle didn't seem too pleased to see him.

“Don’t get any fucking ideas, Fatass. I’m only here because there’s no fucking way I’m going up to that cafeteria with Stan there. Also, they don’t allow you to eat in the library, so Frau Anke gave me permission to eat here.”

They locked glares before Kyle aggressively bit one of his Fritos in half.

“There’s always the men’s room.” Eric further antagonized, secretly relieved that Kyle probably didn’t mean what he said earlier that day after all.

“Ugh, that’s fucking disgusting.” Kyle broke his stare out of repulsion, going back to his notes as he stirred the coals. “What, is that where you go to eat your in-between period meals?”

Eric shrugged as he took a seat at Frau Anke’s desk, bringing out his oversized lunch with a placid look on his face. “Actually I just eat them in the Band office since I’m cataloging sheet music anyway. What’s wrong with brunch anyway? Was that supposed to be an insult? How can _anyone_  go 6 hours without eating?

Kyle resumed his death glare at that retort, his judgmental expression laden with skepticism. “A granola bar in between Breakfast and Lunch? Fine. Brunches at nine and then again at eleven? You’re either a hobbit or a fatass and you’re definitely no Elijah Wood.”

“Woah, you certainly are on fire today, aren’t you?” Eric brought out his sandwich and nodded at Kyle’s improved attitude. “I take it you did better in class today?”

 “What part of ‘I never want to see you again’ didn’t you understand?” Kyle reminded him. “The least you can do is stop talking to me.”

“No, seriously.” Eric disregarded that reminder just as he disregarded all of Kyle’s similar requests in the past.  Leaning back in a comfortable position, Eric continued eating his sandwich as Frau Anke’s seat squeaked in protest. “How did you do on your daily pop-quiz today? You’re going to have another one tomorrow and every class following this. “

 Apparently resigned to this conversation, Kyle finished his last Frito with a frustrated sigh. “I did fine.”

“Probably thanks to our review, no doubt.” Eric cheered, still talking with his mouth full as he grabbed a hold of one of the red pens on Frau Anke’s desk to start marking up tests. This wasn’t part of his job, but fixing other student’s stupid errors always made him feel superior when it came to his own German skills. “We should make this tutoring thing a habit! It’s at least better than you just sitting here alone and feeling sorry for yourself.”

Kyle almost choked on his drink, coughing once or twice before replying curtly. “Who’s feeling sorry for themselves? I know I’m in the right. I don’t need you OR Stan fighting any of my goddamn fights. So back off, you’re not my German tutor.”

Eric laughed and shoved the old quizzes out of the way, now curious to see what today’s curriculum entailed. “Oh so what? You’re the German master now?  Cocky piece of shit, what did you cover today anyway?”

“You’re not my fucking German tutor!” Kyle’s voice rose. “Also I was serious about not wanting to see or talk to you again.”

“You were also serious about not letting your shit with Stan affect your everyday life, and just look at you! All hiding and shi-oh here it is.” Eric grasped onto Frau Anke’s lesson plan as though it were a treasure map, reading through it before shoving his finger at a random category.  “Colors. So what’s black?”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “Schwartz, Cartman I’m not doing thi-”

“Yellow?” Eric smirked, feeding off of Kyle’s increasing rage.

 “Gelb, now-”

“Red.”

"Rot." The redhead responded through clenched teeth, appearing done with the games and done with the fat fuck sitting at the head of the classroom.

Yet Eric’s thoughts were traveling elsewhere. Hearing Kyle utter “rot” with such conviction and hatred made him recall yet another one of his fantasies that he had archived in his imaginative and perverse brain. "Hm, has Frau Anke gotten into the examples yet?”

“It’s the second fucking day, of course not!” Kyle nearly exploded. “All I have next to ‘Rot’ is ‘Apfel’ and that’s the only example she gave.”

Eric ignored Kyle’s outburst and continued to think out loud. “Well she’ll get into Märchens soon enough, I just thought she might have mentioned Rosenrot offhandedly. She tends to throw in German culture in her lessons.”

“Mareshins?” Kyle repeated in annoyance, seeming unsure as to whether he actually needed to know what this word was or not.

“German folktales.” Eric responded rather promptly, feeling pretty sure of himself as he resumed correcting the previous classes’ pop quizzes. “Rosenrot is a story by Goethe and composed by Schubert."

Kyle feigned shock. “Wow. I wouldn’t take you for cultured.”

"Yeah, big surprise right?” Eric huffed, flashing Kyle a conceited look before continuing his gloating. “I actually knew about Rosenrot and a couple other German folktales before I took her classes because of Rammstein.”

“What's a Nazi band have to do with classic German folktales?"

Eric accidently grazed over a correct answer with his red pen, stammering from Kyle’s accusation. “Hah, for the longest time I associated with Rammstein with the whole Nazi thing too because of their music style.”

In an attempt to hide his mistake, Eric shuffled that quiz to the back of the pile and glanced down at the new one. “But once I started to actually _learn_ German I found out that Rammstein is in no way any kind of 'Nazi band'."

"Sure they aren’t.” Kyle dismissively took a bite of his apple, bringing out some book to undoubtedly drown him out.

“Well for instance, some of their songs are inspired by tales from Goethe and Schubert.” Eric shot back, trying to perk Kyle’s interest again by reminding him that he is in fact “cultured”.

Kyle was not bought, however, and began to peruse his history book with flitting fingers. “I’m pretty sure a bunch of rage-filled basement dwellers don’t give a fuck about Goethe and Schubert. You’re probably just overanalyzing a song that’s really just about shooting a bunch of people. ‘Feuer Frei’, was it?”

Eric caught Kyle’s challenging green eyes peer up at him from above the book, causing him to loose his train of thought as he focused on their unrivaled fiery.  His mouth hung agape for an awkward moment or two before he realized he was staring. “UUUuughhhh.” He exhaled exorbitantly, quick-on-his-feet to pretend that the stare was out of disgust and nothing else. “Don’t be one of _those_  people that blame music and video games on that shit, _Kyle_. ‘Feuer Frei’ is just _one_  of their songs. They _literally_  have a song called ‘Rosenrot’ and its heavily influenced by the original story.”

"Okay, so how do they fuck it up so that assholes like you actually give two shits about it?” Kyle jeered, putting his book down and crossing his arms.

This was the part of their typical debate process where Eric knew Kyle would attempt to turn this all around on him in order to make him look stupid. What Kyle didn’t know, amusingly enough, was that this subject was _his_  turf and no uppity Jewface was going to make a fool out of him when it came to German trivia. Donning a victorious grin, Eric leaned into the desk and cusped his hands to respond suggestively, "There’s a boy and a girl…"

Kyle remained still. "Interesting, do they kill each other?"

Eric responded with a smug lilt to his voice. "The boy gets killed, yes.”

"Figures.”

Knowing that Kyle was just stalling, Eric doodled idly on the quiz in front of him while recalling what the song was about. "The boy falls in love with the girl, so the girl sends him up a mountain to go get her a rose. The boy does it since she's a girl and she gets what she wants."

"Sucks.” Kyle provided yet another one-answer response, his eyes wandering back to his history book.

Eric stopped scribbling once he noticed that he no longer held Kyle’s attention, scrambling to up his ante as he stood up and tacked on, "That's not even the worst part! The boy _climbs_  the mountain and eventually gets the rose, but as soon as he grabs it, a rock comes loose from the mountain and he falls to his death."

Kyle smacked his lips after taking a long drink, not looking up from his book as he replied with a resounding, “Lovely”.

“What can I say?” Eric leaned up against the desk, his hands gripping the edge and his eyes drifting downwards once he began to recall several other tragic stories Rammstein had borrowed. “Germans have a hard-on for fucked up story tales.”

“Wow. Why am I not surprised.” Kyle couldn't look less interested in this conversation.

Eric tapped the melody to the song against the linoleum using his class ring, still not ready to give up despite Kyle’s flagging enthusiasm. "Yup! The whole song is basically warning people not to fall in love.”

Kyle actually laughed at that. Eric’s head perking up in time to see the other boy shaking his own and looking quite amused.

“And demonizing women, don’t forget about that.” The redhead chided, catching Eric’s gaze and scornfully adding, “Rammstein’s fanbase is a bunch of sweaty butthurt white guys who can’t land a date, so it’s no wonder that they cater to them."

A spark ignited between them, as though both of them knew that the chit-chat was over and now it was time for the real shit. Eric took heed and made his move after giving Kyle an acidulous eye-over. "It doesn't have to be gender specific, though."

“Whatever." Kyle turned away, seeing where this was going and opting out. 

Then Eric went for it, his lips curling into a cruel smile as he stretched his back tauntingly. "I mean, don't tell me the little Jew Princess didn't get what he wanted when he wanted it…"

Kyle made a face as though someone just force-fed him a banana crème pie. " _Excuse me_? Did you just call me a fucking _Jew Princess_?”

Eric couldn’t help but laugh. “Jesus Christ, Kyle. Take a joke.”

“Why don’t you take a lesson from your stupid, angsty, wannabe-metal German band.” Kyle growled, looming over his desk to give his death-glare more emphasis. “Mess with me? And you’re fucking dead.”

Their eyes met, Kyle’s intensity causing a shiver to go up Eric’s spine, but of course he received a completely different message. "Wait, did you just put us into a hypothetical relationship?"

“In your dreams,” mused Kyle, beginning to gather his things. “It’s a warning.”

Eric took note of the other boy packing it in and strategically moved to the front of the classroom to create a barrier in between Kyle and the door. Not wanting to appear desperate, he started to erase some German Club notes from the blackboard as though that was his intention all along. "Warning me about what? If anything, I thought you’d WANT me dead.”

"Just as badly as you want me dead!” Kyle retorted.

That statement alone nearly caused Eric to drop the eraser, images of San Francisco and the hectic Pentagon room coming to mind as he collected himself and peered back with a quizzical look on his face. "Now what the hell gives you that impression? I’ve been _nothing_  but pleasant to you.”

Kyle wasn’t buying it, sighing exasperatingly and swinging his backpack over his shoulder on his way to the door. “Due to some ulterior motive, obviously. You don’t think I know your game by now? And stalking me isn’t pleasant, it’s creepy as hell.”

“I wasn’t stalking you, damnit.” Eric blocked the exit by standing to the side of the trashcan so he could clap the erasers clean. “I just didn’t want to interrupt what seemed like pretty fucking intense dialogue that needed to be exchanged.”

Kyle let out a groan once he noticed he was trapped, crossing his arms and impatiently rapping his fingers across his bicep. “Sure, and the fight?”

“As I said before, you’re not the only one pissed at Stan.” Eric reiterated, placing the now powder-free erasers on an adjacent desk and turning to Kyle with an agitated expression. “God, just trust me on this, would you?”

Kyle shifted his weight to one foot, outwardly resolute and eager to get the fuck out of there. “I’ve made that mistake way too many times in the past to ever go down that road again.”

“Well, I trust you.” Eric countered rather cunningly.

The redhead furrowed his brow in confusion. “With what?”

“With anything!” Eric exclaimed, resting against the doorframe as he pulled a well-meaning rant out of his ass. “I mean, don’t think I haven’t noticed how much of a drag you’ve been. As a matter of fact, the only times I’ve ever seen you ‘normal’ lately has been during our fights! So even if you hate me, at least that hate grounds you, right? Besides, I know you don't hate me the same way you hate that other fucker. I'd actually venture to say you hate him _worse_ …"

"Only because I actually loved him at one point, I’ve always hated you.” Kyle confirmed rather shortly, but then flushed red once he remembered the context of this whole conversation. “Wait, why am I even talking to you about this?"

Eric smiled at that, knowing now that Kyle’s walls were coming down whether the fucker wanted them to or not. "At least I'm consistent. Stan’s changed, Wendy’s changed, fuck, even _Kenny’s_  turned into this weird mother hen. Isn’t it nice to know we still have our heads on straight?”

“When have you EVER had your head on straight? Honestly?”

Peering out of the door as though he was looking to some invisible ally to support his position, Eric glanced back at Kyle and scoffed, “So what you’re saying is, that siding with you on this whole fucking fiasco isn’t thinking clearly? You know, this isn’t the first time we’ve winded up on the same side of things…so what’s the big fucking deal?”

Kyle shook his head in frustration, about ready to plow through the larger boy if it meant an escape from this infuriating conversation. “You’re not being honest with me, that’s the big fucking deal!”

“How so?” Eric chuffed.

Rushing in, Kyle swooped in so that he was nose-to-nose with his adversary, teeth clenched and fists balled. “It’s obvious you’re up to something, and don’t say you’re not! You came to me AS SOON as you heard that Stan and I broke up and you haven’t left me alone about it since!”

Kyle’s eyes narrowed, “I don't want to talk about Stan and Wendy, and I certainly don’t want to commiserate with someone as despicable as you!”

Eric’s breathing slowed. From above, his mahogany eyes grew darker and darker as though Kyle’s words tore at something deep inside him; the void gradually sucking all of the humanity out of them like an ever-expanding black hole. “Fine. Sue me for attempting to find some humility in all this fucked up bullshit.”

All of a sudden, Eric felt something unexpectedly crack from within. Immediately shifting his head to the side, he made sure to keep his eyes away from Kyle in the hopes of shielding this treacherous pang of unrecognizable pain away from his enemy. “I thought that it would come from someone as open-minded as you, but apparently you’re not open-minded enough to think that I’m an actual person with _actual_  feelings.”

This was unexpected. Eric began to curse himself over and over again in his head as Kyle just stared on in disbelief. Clearly he just blew everything and had to start from scratch. What he didn’t understand, however, was where this feeling of hopelessness was even coming from. This was just one of their normal battle or wits, or at least that’s what he thought coming into this argument. If this was only supposed to be another step in his plan to destroy Kyle once and for all, then why in the name of the Porn-Addicted Jesus fucking Christ did he just allow himself to slip like that?

The two boys stood in awkward silence for an agonizing moment or two, Eric looking as lost as a toddler in a Christmas pageant and his Jew looking quite the opposite. A certain kind of understanding was etched into Kyle’s face, but it seemed like he couldn’t fully grasp it – or wouldn’t. Instead he sighed dejectedly, and just ran a soothing hand through his curly mess of red hair. “Jesus Christ, Cartman. What do you want from me?”

Eric glanced back cautiously, not sure of what Kyle was getting at.

“Just look at what you’re doing!” Kyle tossed a hand in the air. “Now I’m actually starting to feel _bad_  for you, for fuck’s sake.”

Still confused about the sudden turn of events, Eric opened his mouth to respond but was cut off when Kyle stepped forward to slap his hand over top of it. “Look, you’re an unhealthy person in general. You’re unhealthy to be around and you live an unhealthy lifestyle.  It’s no surprise that you wound up in the position you’re in, but I guess you can’t look at yourself objectively like that, can't you? You truly are fucking. helpless.”

Eric furrowed his brow, moving his lips out from behind Kyle’s hand to growl, “What the fuck is that supposed to mea-”

“Obviously nothing.” Kyle interrupted, clapping his hand over Eric’s mouth again while using his other to point a finger into the fat boy’s face. “Listen, if you want to ‘hang out’ or whatever, keep in mind that I wouldn’t be doing it for my own enjoyment, but moreso to criticize EVERY LITTLE THING about you in the SMALL HOPE that you won’t fucking fuck up again and annoy the shit out of me because you’re so ‘lonely and miserable and its everyone’s fault’ or what-the-fuck-ever. _Do you understand me_?”

Eric stared warily into the other boy’s face. Kyle’s eyes were ablaze and the corners of his lips were turned down in a familiar, unshakable frown. He recognized this as Kyle’s “no more jokes” scowl that he had come to somewhat respect over the years. He learned that provoking Kyle beyond this point would either end up with a severely injured body part or getting blatantly ignored for an extended period of time. Truthfully, Eric didn’t know which punishment he hated worse, but as he freed his mouth for a second time, Kyle’s startling message finally registered. “Wait, so you’re _chill_  with this?”

“What’s ‘this’? Nothing’s happening!” Kyle shot back defensively, his heightened voice sounding more and more erratic by the second. “I’m not about to let you think that I’m willing to hang out with you because I think you’re a good person or something.” He interrupted himself with a derisive laugh, his hand moving downwards to latch onto the larger boy’s collar. “In fact, I think you’re a HORRIBLE person, but I know you’re not _entirely_  stupid…”

Eric felt his back collide against the door, Kyle’s forward shove having put him there.  He couldn’t help but wince from the abrupt shock to his spine, and that moment of pause was apparently all Kyle needed to make his escape. His would-be captive concluded their discussion once and for all as he left the classroom. “So if we can make this into a learning experience in the hopes that you’ll finally back off and realize why we can NEVER be friends, then I’m cool with it.”

With a bewildered expression and his jaw slack, Eric blinked several times before answering daftly. “Uh, okay. Tiefe Brunnen muss man graben (Deep Wells must be dug) I guess…”

“What did you say to me?” Kyle whipped his head around, only seconds away from another attack.

Yet Eric knew better to push his luck now, shaking his head dismissively before calling out coolly. “Nothing. So… how about Friday night?”

Kyle glared at him in disbelief, taking a deep, resolute breath before responding with a twinge of defeat. “Sure. Sounds fucking lovely.”

“Sweet, I’ll call you then.” Eric shrugged off his answer, but still slicked his hair back as suavely as he possibly could in his current disheveled state.

Clearly not impressed, Kyle uttered a final “fine” before heading off to what Eric presumed to be the library. Still reveling from the fight, and shifting his eyes to catch the Jew disappear from the hallway, all he could think about was how hard the fucker must have shoved him for his chest to feel this weird and heavy.

* * *

Eric couldn’t remember what he did in between stepping out of Frau Anke’s doorway up to hearing the final bell.  Actually he remembered one thing; a final announcement stating that the NHS board would be holding their first meeting of the year after school that day – meaning, of course, that Kyle wouldn't be on the bus going home.

Stan Marsh, however, would be on the bus going home that day, which meant Eric would be receiving a fuckload of butthurt glares from that motherfucker. On any other day, this would annoy the shit out of him, but today was different. Today, for all intents and purposes, Kyle just agreed to go on a date with him. So, if anything, he invited his stares! As soon as Stan gave him the first one, Eric just smiled back full-heartedly, further provoking him by stretching his arms behind his head and resting back on his seat with a look of sure, smug, satisfaction.

Visibly confused, Stan turned around, befuddled, only to glare back a second time to check that his glare was indeed being met with such a taunting pose.

Eric didn’t falter, still matching Stan’s glare with an unwavering grin. They held each other’s attention for a whole minute before Stan finally turned around, his face plastered with a look of sheer loathing even with his focus directed elsewhere.

By the time their stop came, Eric followed Stan off the bus with a skip to his step. When he sensed that the fucker wanted to say something to him, he started singing to himself and switched to his favorite Rammstein song, for it had been in his head ever since his fight with Kyle. Stan apparently did not want a fight, because Eric reached his house unscathed and unprovoked. The song was still blaring in his ears as he ascended his stoop, providing him the music to narrate the images of his and Kyle’s outing and distracting him from the fact that his mother’s car was parked in the driveway during her normal work hours.

“Rosenrot, oh Rosenrot. Tiefe wasser sind nich-” Eric’s breath caught in his throat the moment he swung open the door, his hand slipping from the door knob as he was greeted with an eerily familiar chuckle. All images of Kyle and thoughts of retribution burned up in flames once he placed that laugh to its owner.

“Hello, Nephew.” His Uncle Howard chimed up ominously from the couch, taking a bite out of a delicately prepared sandwich that looked an awful lot like the one that was supposed to have been saved for him. “Long time no see.”


	6. Pumpkin Carriages and Mice Into Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric's life is turned upside down once his uncle pays him a visit. After getting help from an unlikely source, he comes clean with Kyle before departing for Nebraska.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some mild Pacific Rim spoilers in here. Also, if you're interested, you can check out my Tumblr (Labyrinth1n3) for any and all updates!

Eric’s jaw hung slack for a moment or two; his mind racing to piece together why his Uncle Howard would be there in his house today of all days. Lost inside his own train of thought, Eric could only think of snapping his mouth closed in an attempt to seem less like a scared dog caught with his tail in between his legs and more like someone who had the foresight to see this coming from a mile away. 

Forcing a grin, Eric closed the door behind him and said the first thing that came to mind. 

“I’ve been expecting you." 

“Really? Coulda fooled me.” Howard replied. Opposite of the hand that clutched the familiar sandwich was a cane that the older man fiddled with as his cloudy eyes peered at Eric over his glasses. “A moment ago you looked like you walked in on a ghost goin’ down on a motherfuckin’ Chupacabra. Now how ‘bout you go on and tell me how you really feel about seein’ your ol’ Uncle Howard?”

To say Howard looked different from the last time Eric had seen him would be an understatement. The warden stopped allowing Howard use of the videoconference room soon after his escape, so there was no more TV linking his family to the prison after that mess. Eric thought this Uncle Howard, with his thinning curly hair and limp leg, looked more like another grandfather than an uncle. Even his Uncle Stinky looked better off than Howard, and they were only five years apart. Eric wondered if prison had broken Howard’s spirit, but regardless of his motivations for being here, he needed to steer the older man away from the whys and reasons for his 6-year silence.

“35 years, your times up. I’d knew you’d be here, it was just a matter of time.” Eric shrugged nonchalantly, throwing his coat and bag to the floor on his way to the kitchen. “Just didn’t know that time would be, well, today. School and all, you know how it is.”   _Wait,_ _did he even finish school?_ Eric thought to himself.

“Well, excuse me! Didn’t mean t’ _disrupt_ your ‘busy life’! It’s not like I’ve been locked away for 35 fuckin’ years waitin’ for the day I’d actually getta chance t’ see my nephew when I’m _not_  on the God damn lamb.” Howard yelled from the couch, his voice raised but weathered from its over-use and poor health. “God forbid I’d think you’da been a little more pleased t’ see me!”

Eric was not used to being yelled at in his own house. His first instinct was to laugh, but judging by the terrified way Liane shook her head at him from the sink, he kept a lid on it and instead snagged the sandwich that she had already prepared for him on his way back into the living room. Laughing might be out of the question, but Eric wasn’t about to let that fucker treat him like that in his own house without repercussion.

“Take that stick or AARP card out of your ass, old man.” Eric sneered, sitting on the piano bench to leer at his uncle from across the room.  “I’m more pissed about you stealing my fucking sandwich than showing up out of the blue.”

Howard chuffed. “If you’da taken the time t’read the letter I sent you a couple weeks back, then maybe this wouldn't have been ‘out of the blue’, you ingrate!” 

“Ingrate? Are you fucking senile? What in the hell have you ever done for me?” Eric took an angry bite out of his sandwich, swallowing hastily before snapping back, “Are you talking about that stuff you’d mail to me back when I was a kid? I sent you little thank-you notes, what more do you fucking want?”

“I ain’t talkin’ about the gifts, you little asshole! Jesus Christ, you ain’t even aware, aren’t you?” Howard cracked a smug grin.

Eric glowered, not knowing what to expect now that Howard’s entire demeanor changed before his very eyes. “Aware of what?”

“Hmph. Well I don’t mind reminding you about what I still consider the best day of my life.” Howard boasted. “I was in the mess-hall when someone handed me a newspaper. It took me a second t’register what I was readin, but the moment I saw your name and the ‘Mel Gibson fanclub’ you made, I was sure. By the time I got t’ the part about the march you organized, I fuckin’ knew right then that you were made for this.”

Eric continued to hold his no-nonsense glare as he finished up his sandwich. “Made for what?" 

“Don’t play stupid with me, boy!” exclaimed Howard, grabbing his cane to shove it pointedly towards Eric’s face. “The club, the message, the march – where’d you think you learned all that? South Park? Hell, this place was overrun by them hippies by the time I got thrown in prison. Now that dyke’s in charge of the government and her lover’s the principal of the elementary school and I hear the angry kyke gets her bigass Jewnose in every board and community function in this town!”

Eric couldn’t help but chortle, “Yeah, it sucks.”

Howard, however, did not find this humorous at all. With a struggled grunt, he sat back up and leaned forward for emphasis. “ _Don’t you geddit, you little **bastard**_?”

At the mention of that particular word, Eric’s smile melted into a scowl.

“Youda been just as drugged and brainwashed as the rest of your little ‘ _friends_ ’ if it weren’t for me! Hell, you’d probably be a treehuggin, whale-saving, pansy like the Marsh’s boy if it weren’t for me! You’d think that I’d at least get a letter back sayin’ 'Thank you Uncle Howard for all your guidance’, but somethin’ tells me you’re just as unappreciative and god-forsaken like the rest of America’s you-”

"Just shut your mouth, you fucking idiot," Eric interrupted.

Howard did a double take. “Whaddyou say to me?”

"I’d tell you to use your fucking brain for once, but now I’m convinced that you’re probably mentally retarded.” Eric laughed sardonically, tilting his head in a condescending manner. “Think you asshole, what would have happened if the police found out I was in cahoots with you, huh? No offense -Uncle Howard- but you _are_ an ex convict, and had there been a connection between us, I could have been considered a co-conspirator with your little ‘group’.

Before Howard could retort, Eric bolted out of his seat to pace coolly across the room, recalling a rather pertinent story. “I did go to Juvi once, you know. And I’m almost positive they used me as an example because I _happened_ to be related to the founder of the Midwest’s largest hate group.”

After throwing a callous nod to the fuming man hunched over the couch, Eric resumed his cautionary tale. “If it wasn’t for the fact that Token’s Dad spoke on my behalf, I'd probably _still_ be in Juvi. I’m pretty fucking sure they won’t go so lightly on me now that I’m older...”

“Don’t you ge-”

Eric pounded his fists against the coffee table. "Don’t _you_ get it, you old fuck?! I didn’t contact you because I was _protecting_ you!"

It was a lie, but he still kept direct eye contact with his uncle to convince him otherwise. "Yet your massive ego wouldn't let you just sit by– no. You had to keep sending me those stupid letters, and word travels fast in this Podunk town. You could have ruined _everything_!”

Howard took a moment to reflect upon Eric’s words, sliding his withered hand over his mouth and muttering mostly to himself, “Has it really gotten this bad…”

“The only chance I ever really get to speak my mind is during Debate, and even then I have to pretend I’m just defending the ‘unpopular’ opinion.” Eric narrowed his eyes, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to be putting on an act. 

“Well then, I came at the right time, didn’t I?” Howard perked up.

“Right time for what?” Eric asked, warily.

“To take you and Liane back t’ Nebraska, of course.”

Eric held his breath in anticipation for the inevitable “Nah, I’m just joking” or something of that nature. When it did not come, he glanced at his uncle and then towards the window as though a part of the conversation had flown out of it at one point during their discussion.

“Psh!” He turned back to Howard to glare at him indignantly. “Look, I know you were raised alongside a bunch of high school drop outs, but I’m not dropping out of High School to lead some ignorant-ass group of skinheads. What do you even take me for?”

“Well, they won’t be a bunch’a ignorant-ass skinheads if _you’re_ there t’show them differently!” Howard combated. “Screw the American Public School system! Their contorted curriculum demonizes white-Americans and lowers the standard for the sake of “affirmative action”. We have teachers for the cause back in Chase County that can give you a quality education at home without all the bullshit! Plus, you’ll be doing what you love at the same time.”

Eric huffed in amusement, ready to humor him at this point. “And what might that be?” 

“Rallying the troupes and leading them into battle. Like Robert E. Lee, right? I remember reading about that too.” Howard recalled warmly and started thumbing the edge of his cane. “You’re a natural born leader, and I’m not about to let you miss out on what is obviously your calling in life.” 

Giving his uncle an awkward nod, Eric sat back down on the piano bench to idly skim through his sheet music. “I’ll think about it.”

Howard looked abash, fidgeting uncomfortably before grunting from the couch. “What’s there t’think about? I’ve already gone over it with your mother. Every weekend for the rest of the semester you’ll be flying back home to Imperial with me.”

“Hah! Over my dea-” 

Eric was interrupted by the sound of something dropping in the kitchen. From the way the living room was set up, he was the only one who could lean back to see what caused the noise. This proved fortunate, for the noise was no accident and it only took one glance at his mother’s petrified expression for Eric to understand that this was not something he could just blow off. There was clearly something else written between the lines of her brother’s offer that she knew and he obviously did not.

“Wait, you’re not joking?” He shot back at his uncle, loosing some of the cockiness in his voice.

“Does it look like I’m joking?” Howard growled, having obviously caught on to what just took place between the two. “Your mother’s staying in South Park for the time being until she finalizes the move. In the meantime, as I said, you’ll be flying to Imperial with me every Friday night.”

“ _Flying_?” Eric repeated frantically, trying to find a logic loop in any of this to get himself out of this predicament. “How do you expect me to pay for all these fucking flights?”

“The contributors! Don’t you know Imperial has it’s own airport? They’re all very excited for what you have t’offer.” 

“What about my grades?” Eric kept it up, trying to think the way his uncle would. “These Liberal-ass colleges will find any excuse to throw out a white guy’s application these days; I can’t just leave school to be homeschooled. What about my debate tournaments and German club events?”

Howard coughed dismissively. “Homeschooling is a legitimate form of education, Eric. Besides, this’ll be your last semester at this sorry excuse of a school anyway. Those clubs can’t be that important.”

Eric scoffed, searching for other any other excuse to halt this plan. “Why can’t I just start recruiting people here and make my way towards Nebraska?”

As soon as those words left Eric’s mouth, he knew he went too far. His thoughts were confirmed when his uncle leered at him from across the room with this look of disgust and unfamiliarity.

“What’s wrong with you, boy? You’re actin’ like I’m out t’break your balls, here. Ain’t this what you’ve been dreaming of? Ain’t this what you tried t’do when that Dark Lord came outta the ground? Well that ain’t happenin’ again any time soon, so now you get a chance to do it the real-world way with real people and real support.” 

Clenching his fists, Eric could feel a surge of something start to boil from within; something that he’d kept bottled up inside him for the sake of fooling those around him into thinking he had actually changed his ways. Eric didn’t expect it to come from someone like Howard, but nevertheless his uncle was actually coaxing that something out of him, and it felt so incredibly right. However, he couldn’t have Howard think that this was _his_ doing.

“Enough of this bullshit, when did I _ever_ fucking indicate that this wasn't what I wanted? Yet unlike you fucks back in Nebraska, I care enough about my future to avoid setting myself up for a disaster. I mean, look how _you_  ended up!” He mocked, making his way towards the staircase to end this nonsensical discussion once and for all.

“No offense, but I’d rather stay here in Buttfuck, Colorado and duke it out amongst the hippies than spend the rest of my life in a fucking prison cell.”

“The only way you’ll end up in a prison cell is if you don't take care of your enemies right away. That’ll be your first task, Eric – eliminatin’ mine.” Howard grumbled, struggling to get out of his seat. “They’ll fuckin’ pay… those corrupt lawyers and that hippie fuck who filed charges.”

Eric was about to put this whole debacle behind him until he heard his uncle mention ‘lawyers’.

“Wait,” he turned back around to face his Uncle with the straightest face he could muster. “By ‘corrupt lawyers’ you don’t mean ‘Broflovski and Jackson’… right?” 

His uncle was clearly in his own world, consumed with rage and revenge to the point of delirium. “Those fuckers and Marsh took away my livelihood, so I’ll have my troupes take away theirs. I’ll watch on as their houses burn and families perish, just as my hopes and dreams did the moment I heard my sentence.”

Eric froze. All excitement and annoyance that he felt during this exchange vanished in an instant once his Uncle Howard confirmed his suspicions. He realized, right then, that his maniac uncle and his group were no longer some pesky inconvenience. No, this whole thing was now an immediate threat to his own life, happiness, and dear plans that he wouldn’t sacrifice for the whole fucking world. 

Howard obviously mistook his grave expression for awe, and concluded with resolution.

“This is happenin’, Eric. Be ready t’leave Friday at midnight.”

 

* * *

 

 

The continual sound of small talk and polite laughter emanating from downstairs did not help Eric’s anxiety one bit. It had been two days since his uncle arrived, and his mother’s fear for her brother clearly outweighed her willingness to intervene. There were obviously serious consequences for either one of them if something were to go wrong, but Eric knew that there were going to be consequences no matter what. Howard had laid out his hand and there was no time for Eric to fold.

Eric could only think of a handful of times where Kyle was put in danger due to circumstances outside his control, and in each one of those circumstances, he made sure that death didn’t take him before he’d have his chance. This time, however, he was going to need something more than just Butters and a stolen hazmat suit.

Hours went by before Eric noticed the chattering finally stopped. Moments later, he heard someone leave through the front door rather abruptly. Waiting patiently for any kind of clue as to who it was, he suddenly heard the sound of delicately clinking dishes. This indicated, to his utmost relief, that his uncle was no longer in his house after having staked out the couch for the past 48 hours.

Jolting up from his desk, he pocketed the notes he spent the past couple of days coming up with and threw on his jacket and scarf. When he reached downstairs, everything looked normal, as though his uncle had never been there at all. A part of him wished that were actually the case, but judging by the eerie silence coming from the kitchen, he understood that part of him to be quite foolish.

When Eric rounded the corner, he caught his mother precariously washing a teacup over the sink. She didn’t even turn around to look at him.

“He’s not coming back, right? You kicked him out and told him to never come back?”

Liane let out a sad laugh before responding with forced optimism, “Oh, honey - it doesn’t work like that. Your Uncle Howard may seem a bit odd, but he’s a powerful man who can do more for us than I could do on my own.”

“And I’m sure he’s the one who told you that.” Eric snapped, sure that his uncle had used the same manipulation techniques that he himself had used on her his whole life.

“Well, yes. Bu-”

“Mom, listen to me -you’re a great mom! You’ve done it on your own for 16 years and it’s only going to get easier once I’m able to drive and shit! Yeah times got tough when we were short on cash, but we always made it through! Why do you need him now? You never needed a fucking guy to handle things!”

He paused, reconsidering that last statement. “Well, besides me – but still!”

Liane sighed, drying the teacup as she turned around to offer him a defeated-looking smile. “You’re right, poopsikins. But I already gave him my word, and he gets testy when he doesn’t get his way.” 

Eric couldn’t believe how passively she was taking this. There was something else laced in that pathetic look she was giving him; something that told him there was literally nothing either one of them could do to stop this.

Of course, Eric knew that was simply not true.

Livid as all hell, he marched over to the sink and swiped the teacup away from his mother’s hands. “You’re not telling me something. You shouldn’t be treating this like its some minor inconvenience when he’s literally uprooting our lives! What’s going on? Why are you so afraid of him?”

Her expression worsened the moment the teacup was snatched from her grasp. With nothing to distract herself with, she dropped the act entirely and placed her hands to her sides to explain rather gravely, “He has a ‘list’, Eric, and he’s not above putting his own family members on this ‘list’ – especially ones that cross him.” 

She ran her fingers through her hair, growing more shaken by the second as she continued, “I was nearly put on his list when I decided to leave Imperial on my own, but when I got pregnant with you, his attitude towards me changed. Now I know why.”

Eric grit his teeth. Like hell he was going to be made into Howard’s prodigal son.

Liane nodded sympathetically. “If we play along, we’ll be protected. If we oppose him, we’re no better off than the people already on that list.”

They both took a moment to let that sentence sink in, but after a couple fleeting seconds, Eric shook his head in denial once he remembered who was ‘already on that list’.

“What makes you think that he’ll be able to get away with this?”

“Howard has a way of getting what he wants,” Liane replied solemnly. “He knows people in high places who aren’t afraid of helping him now that he’s done his time.”

“If he’s that freaking powerful, how did he end up in prison?” Eric asked, incredulously.

“It was his choice. He could have gotten a pardon easily, but he knew that there was nothing more valuable than being viewed as a martyr.” She faltered for a second, and then dared to say. “He’s smart, Eric. He’s been doing this for a long time.”

“Well this is bullshit! I’m not afraid of him and I’m not about to let him fucking dictate our lives!”

Eric kicked one of the cabinets closed on his way out the back door. Once outside, the first thought that came to mind was ‘September wasn’t supposed to be this fucking freezing’. After a moment to fix his scarf, he took the mind-numbingly cold gust of wind coming down from the mountains as guidance and allowed it to shove him out onto his driveway and into the dark street.

The wind was blowing westward, so that’s where he ended up walking. Eric had no destination in mind since the only thing _on_ his mind was that his uncle wanted him to orchestrate the deaths of the whole Broflovski family.

Objectively, this was the easiest thing in the world for Eric to accomplish; he already had a whole notebook full of plans ending with Kyle’s death when he used to obsess over it. Eric actually considered giving that notebook to his uncle, considering he would at least know what to expect, but then he remembered the _other shit_ about Kyle he had wrote in it and scrapped that idea completely. 

Sighing, he buried his neck in his scarf and tried to come up with another idea. There was always the easy option; putting a cap in his uncle’s head and calling it a day. He already had a gun and its not like anyone would think twice about the death of a racist asshole. The more he thought about it, the more this idea appealed to him, but he couldn’t help but wonder whether Kyle was really worth the risk of spending the rest of his life in jail.

Eric stopped in tracks, balling his hands into his fists as he mulled over that thought for moment or two. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled though his nose in amusement as a peculiar line of dialogue from his past suddenly surfaced.

“Empty and Hollo-”

“ **You asshole**!”

Franz collided into him from out of nowhere, nearly pushing him to the ground before grabbing onto his coat. “Just look at where your nonchalant attitude about your uncle landed us! Can you explain this fucking note that was left _inside_  our house? Is he _actually_ in town?” 

Reeling from the ambush, Eric took one look at the note that his classmate was shoving into his face before swiping it away. “Jesus Christ, Franz. I really don’t have the fucking patience to deal with your problems right now. I already have a fuckton of my own.”

“Like hell you don’t!” The blond boy raged, growing more hysterical by the second. “I warned you that he’d come around and mess with us, and now he’s leaving threats! We’re all in danger, aren’t we?”

“Franz, I swear to god.” Eric jabbed his elbow into Franz with an aggressive grunt. His patience was running thin and he sure as hell wasn’t ready to address the level of danger his uncle brought onto their families. “You can either move out of my fucking way or I’ll move you myself. I’m more than aware of what’s going on and the last thing I need right now is an insignificant fuck like you getting in my face about it!”

“This isn’t about me, asshole!” Franz cried out, getting into Eric’s face to remind him yet again, “Your uncle still hasn’t forgiven my dad for losing his case! Lord knows what he’s going to do to the Broflovski’s for winning the Marsh’s!”

Eric had been a ticking time bomb ever since his uncle delivered the news about his plan, and when Franz finished that last statement, it was all he needed to hear to finally set him off. A second later, Eric was delivering a stone-hard punch to the boy’s face. The satisfying crunch traveled from his fist up to his shoulder and it made him shiver in delight. For a few sanctimonious seconds, he forgot about his uncle’s demands and his part of a plan that could foil the ones he had been developing for years. Eric watched from above as Franz tripped over himself and he followed gleefully, pinning him down and taking fistfuls of his hair to bash his head back against the concrete.  

Yet just as Franz was about to retaliate, a disembodied voice brought Eric back into the real world.

“Well well well, Franz. Here I am gone for one night and you are already scouting the neighborhood for a new playmate.”

The girl’s speech was low, throaty, and somewhat reminiscent of the Marlene Dietrich songs Frau Anke would play in class. There was something inherently oracular about the way she spoke, but Eric could tell that superfluous quality to it was only a useful front. 

“I did not know you were into bears with anger issues. I guess I need to start eating more of Bert’s pastries to catch up.”

She saddled up next to them, her hands on her hips and a smirk on her lips. Eric could now recognize her as the German exchange student who gave him lip in class the other day.

Franz wriggled out from underneath Eric and turned his attention to the familiar girl seated on the curb in front of them. “Ulla, what you doing out here? Where’ve you been all night, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” 

“Aus (out).” She spoke directly to Franz, sliding off of the curb to cup his face and wipe some of the blood running from his nose. “Though, I heard about the break in - do I need to start sleeping outside to make sure no other crippled, old men sneak into the house?”

“Wait, how did you know he was crippled?” Eric interjected, not one to be ignored.

She scowled at him, flicking something in her wrist before tugging Franz into her arms. “I saw him leave. I figured the damage was already done, and there is no real point in taking out a wobbly old guy no matter what the context. You always end up looking like an ass.”

“This is different, Ulla.” Franz warned, coughing against her as she began to inspect the bump on his head. “If you see that guy coming near the house again you have to call the cops. He’s after our whole family and has a bunch of goons at his beck and call." 

He sneered at Eric. “Like this asshole.”

“Ay!” Eric called out in protest. “Just what makes you think I have anything to do with this shit?”

Franz slid out from Ulla’s grasp to confront Eric head-on, getting up in his face until they were nose to nose. “I don’t know, maybe your years and years of being a Hitler Groupie and an Anti-fucking-Semite?”

Eric reeled his head back to headbutt that motherfucker back onto the street, but a nicely manicured hand fell in front of his face preventing such action.

“Ach so.” She began, withdrawing her hand and turning Eric around to face her now. For how cold it was outside, she was sure wearing one sleek outfit. It was black and fluid, only stopping at her shins where the tops of her stealth boots wrapped around her muscled calves. On top of her parted blonde curls was a stately black cap, and beneath it, her blue eyes shot daggers into his morally ambiguous soul. “I take it that the crippled old guy was your uncle?” 

Eric stopped staring at her long enough to grab her hand off of him and growl, “Why are you even getting involved in this? I don’t know you from Adam! Or well, Eve or… whatever!”

Ulla crossed her arms against her chest. “Because the two of you are panicking and it seems like I am the only one disconnected from this situation enough to think logically. So what is going on exactly?”

Franz sighed and placed his head in his hands. “Cartman’s uncle’s out of-”

“Yes, Franz. I was in class that day; I know that much. What is the situation _now?_ ” Ulla snapped. 

Eric actually chortled in approval, but once her hardened eyes fell on him, he came to and replied without hesitation.

“We need to stop my uncle’s plans.”

 “What?” Franz spoke up in confusion. “You’re actually going to work against your uncle’s cause? I thought you’d _dive_ at the chance!”

Eric took in a slow, dangerous breath. “Now’s not the time, Franz!” 

“Easy then!” Ulla replied lightheartedly, turning to a strung-out Eric and shrugging her shoulders as if the answer was simple. “All you need to do is destroy his plans before any sort of attack takes place.”

As if that answer wasn’t obvious already, Eric scoffed audibly and threw up his hands in the air in frustration. “Really? You don’t say. And how the fuck do you suppose we do that?” 

Ulla did not falter, still grinning at him as she crooked her neck to the side. “Mit Poison, naturlich.” (With poison, naturally.)

Franz choked on some of the blood draining from his broken nose. “What?! I’m not killing anyone!” 

Eric, on the other hand, perked his brow in serious contemplation.

Ulla gave a light snort and raised her hand to dismiss Franz’ concerns. “Not literally, Liebling (Dear). I meant poison their minds; driving them into the ground before they can even take off.”

Franz still wasn’t bought. “We’re not in some ‘Inception’ movie, Ulla! Think realistically here!”

“I am not talking about you or me, Franz.” She replied, her eyes glowing with premise as she turned to Eric and hinted, “Es muss jemand sie nehmen Aufträge aus sein.” (It must be someone they take orders from)

It only took a moment for Eric to grasp what she was insinuating, and all of a sudden, the thought of leading the hate group didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

“Wait, what’s happening? What’s he going to do?” asked Franz.

“Enough, the problem is solved.” Ulla placed a finger to her boyfriend’s lips, her other hand smoothing over his stomach as she revealed to him the object she had flicked in her wrist when she first arrived at the scene. “I will intervene if need be. No one’s family will get hurt.”

Snapping out of his moment of clarity, Eric watched in bewilderment as the look of anxiety seemed to dissolve from Franz’ face at the sight of the mysterious object.

Perturbed, he puffed up his shoulders and intentionally bumped into Ulla on his way back to his house. “Right, you’ll sass them to deat-” 

He didn’t have time to reel from the fall; something had wrapped around his ankles so quickly that his face had planted into the sidewalk before he could even finish his sentence. Not only that, but he could feel someone kick him off the curb and onto the street as something sharp wrapped around his whole body. 

Coming to a stop, Eric spotted Ulla looming over him and watched in horror as she ground her boot into his groin. As much as he wanted to curl up in pain, he couldn’t move a single muscle; every time he thrashed to get loose, the wire she used to subdue him just dug deeper into his clothing.

There was blood already seeping through his khakis.

Flipping the remaining coil of wire in her hand, Ulla proceeded to drag her boot up to his face as she taunted, “I have taken out over fifty men at a time who were much larger, much stronger, and much smarter than you.” 

Eric’s breath became labored and his rage peaked by the time her heel reached his mouth. 

“Doubt me again? And I will castrate you to make sure none of your little Neonazi children ever see the light of day.”

Finished with her warning, she kicked him back over the curb and uncoiled her wire from his body, leaving him in the street as she began to walk away with Franz in tow.

Once he could move, Eric rushed to inspect his sore and bleeding ankles. He had half a mind to run up to that cunt and shove that wire up her ass, but now that he had seen what she was capable of, he had second thoughts.

Instead, he got to his feet and called out to her with an enraged snarl, “Fick dich! Ich zeige dir ein Neonazi” (Fuck you! I’ll show you a Neonazi!)

He heard Ulla laugh in the distance, watching on in fury as she glanced back at him with a taunting smile stretched across her face. 

“Stimmt! Du bist jetzt ihrem Führer, nicht wahr?” (Right! You _are_ their leader now, correct?)

Eric remained standing there under the streetlamp, counting down from ten in his head. When he reached one, he exhaled into the cold night air and resumed breathing normally. He realized then his right hand was still caked in blood; the flakes crinkled against his knuckles as he flexed his fingers. There was somewhere he wanted to go tonight, a place that usually helped him clear his head when everything got to be too much.

Yet as tonight’s events replayed in his head, it didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.

* * *

 

School seemed so paltry to Eric now that his life had taken such a turn. Ever since his uncle's visit, he would watch his peers go about their day in silent envy. He remembered when he used to care about how dumb an assignment was or how poorly a teacher taught a subject - to think that was only a couple days ago.

Everything that he didn't want in his life was happening too fast and everything he did want in his life wasn't happening fast enough. It was enough to drive a sane man over the edge, but Eric was not sane. No sane man would go along with a plan like this.

His ultimate goal at school was to make sure no one caught onto his change in attitude, but it was harder than he expected. He tried to crack jokes at lunch, start arguments in class, and be his normal, loveable self throughout the school day, but his attempts were in vain. In the back of his mind, he knew it was all for nothing.

Every so often, his uncle’s rant would play on repeat in his brain - especially the part when Howard said ‘leading his own army was a dream of his’ or something of that nature. Because he was right, he _always_ wanted to lead his own personal army.

After all, it wasn’t like Kyle couldn’t take care of himself when all was said and done.  Kyle sucked anyway; Eric couldn’t even remember the last time he paid him one of his nightly visits.

And then Eric remembered another someone who apparently liked sneaking into other people’s houses in the dead of night.

His breathing hitched. It wasn’t that Eric was necessarily _afraid_ of what his feeble uncle was capable of, but whenever he let his mind wander he'd start to think of things like... what if Howard discovered that most of the Broflovski’s windows could be accessed from the outside?  


 _Psh, Kyle sucks anyway._ He repeated in his head, but cognitive dissonance could only work so many times.

“Just to let you know? We’re not hanging out at your place tonight. We’re going to go somewhere out in the open where you can’t trap me or whatever.”

Eric suddenly came to. He was on a bus and it was Friday afternoon. The school week had ended.

“What?” He asked, following the sound of the voice. It was Kyle, and he was glaring at him from over his seat.

“Oh sorry, did that ruin your plans? Fucking Christ, that was your plan, wasn’t it?” Kyle mused.

“I don’t- oh!” Eric flung his eyes open in shock once he remembered that they were supposed to hang out tonight. He couldn’t believe he actually forgot. “Right, fuck. Yeah lets just grab something to eat or whatever. Pacific Rim’s supposed to be good, we could go see that.”

Kyle stared at him blankly, his jaw slightly agape. “Wait, did you actually forget we were supposed to hang out tonight? Could I have just not said anything and skipped this whole fuckmess with you none the wiser?” He hit the back of his chair in wild frustration. “Well, fuck me!” 

Eric didn’t skip a beat. “Not so fast, Jewface. We still need to get through the other bases."

Kyle shot him a rather morbid expression.

Eric held in his laughter this time, breaking eye contact with the other boy to stare ahead in the distance. “No I didn’t forget. I’ve just been feeling off, that’s all.”

“Uh huh.” Kyle perked his brow, studying him for a second longer before pointing out, “You haven’t bugged me since Tuesday. It felt nice… albeit a little suspicious.”

“Hah, yeah, you’d think that.” Eric nodded slowly, still gazing ahead before snapping out of his daze. “No really, I’m looking forward to it. It’ll be nice to get my mind off the shit I’ve been dealing with lately.” 

“You look like shit.” Kyle stated bluntly. “I’d dismiss this as another part of your plan or whatever, but Kenny said you’ve been acting this way around everyone, not just me.” 

“Ugh.” Eric rolled his eyes, knowing there was no real point in following through with any of his ‘plans’ anymore. “Okay, Kyle. You’re not stupid, so I’ll be straight with you. There _might_ have been a 'plan' in the beginning? Like, when I came into your room and gave you shit? But-”

He paused and released a quick sigh, cursing inwardly that everything had to come out like this. “It’s changed. I’ve got other shit to deal with now and I quite honestly just need to get out of my fucking house and remind myself that I still have a life of my own.”

Kyle recoiled slightly, clearly not expecting this kind of response. “So there _was_ a plan?”

“You called it right in the beginning! Congratufuckinglations!” Eric exclaimed and hung his head in embarassment. “But then I realized it was fucking ridiculous and extremely petty in the scheme of things.” 

“What were you going to do to me?” Kyle asked furiously. 

“I don’t know, get you to like me? Make you realize Stan’s a dipshit? It was middle school bullshit that doesn’t even matter anymore.” Eric didn’t dare look up, knowing his face was probably redder than Kyle’s mess of hair. 

Kyle didn’t answer right away, and Eric thought for a second that the fucking Jew just left him there to hang. Yet just as he was about to lift his head from his hands, the other boy began to speak, “Well first off, you don’t need to convince me that Stan can be a dipshit even when he’s at his best. I already know that. Secondly…”

The redhead exhaled. “God, either you’ve got something crazy cooked up or there really is something going down. You’re being way too up-front with me, what made you decide to come clean? Or is this part of your plan too.”

“God DAMN it Kyle, there IS no fucking plan!” Eric shouted as he raised his fist in the air and slammed it back down on his seat. “I already told you, there _was_ one, it was _dumb_ , and I’m **over** it.”

If his face wasn’t red before, it was definitely red now. In an attempt to calm back down, he closed his eyes and released the tension building up in his shoulders.

Opening them back up, he stared ahead, deadpan, and asked Kyle point blank. “You know when I’m lying, am I lying now?” 

Kyle returned his stare with a quizzical look, visibly uncomfortable but perplexed enough to continue the dialogue. “Well, I know you’re not lying about there being a plan. Whether that plan is gone, I guess I’ll have to see for myself.”

Eric wasn’t sure what Kyle was insinuating, or he did, but he didn't want to give his hopes up. “So you’r-”

“I’ll stick around, whatever. You’re right, I can tell when you’re lying so I’ll be able to tell when you’re fucking with me- but you’re always fucking with me, so I guess I’m fucked, aren’t I?” Kyle cocked his head to the side with a derisive grin.

Eric didn't hold his laughter back this time. “Yeah, I guess so.”

When their stop came, Eric noticed Kyle let him pass in front of him on their way out. Once they were far enough away from everyone, he figured out why:

“You know I’ll never ‘like’ you, right?”

Eric heard from behind; the fucker didn’t want to make eye contact with him when he broke the news.

 “Yeah,” he swallowed, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Good, I’m glad we could get that out of the way.” Kyle immediately responded, and then he was walking next to him. “That would have been awkward. I do want to see Pacific Rim tonight though, you paying?” 

Eric laughed, “Well I MIGHT have paid if you didn’t say that whole ‘I’ll never like you’ bit. The whole point of paying for a date is to get something out of it, right?”

“It’s not a date,” scoffed Kyle.

“You’re the one who asked me! Though I’m not too surprised, you being a stingy Jew and all-”

Kyle elbowed him in the gut. “Fuck you, fatass. I was planning on seeing it tonight regardless.”

The movie started at 9 o clock and lasted two hours, and for those two hours, it took every ounce of self-restraint Eric possessed to not continually chuck popcorn at Kyle’s hair to see if it would stick AND if he’d even notice.

Eric was sure Kyle thought he’d try to hold his hand or attempt some other romantic gesture during the movie, but all he really wanted to do was make a smiley face on his head. He’d miss this kind of shit the most if he actually ended up moving.

Luckily, Eric made it all the way through the movie without even a joke. As a reward, he bought himself another bag of caramel popcorn on his way out of the theatre.

“Damn! I really wish we could have learned more about those Russian pilots, did you see them?” Eric proceeded to shove his face with another handful of popcorn.

“Yes Cartman, I was right next to you in the theatre the whole time,” answered Kyle, lackadaisically.

“No but seriously, they were the most badass out of all of them.”

“Clearly not, they died first.”

“Nuh uh!” Eric exclaimed, rolling up the remainder inside the bag. “That fucking brother did!”

Kyle grabbed the bag out of Eric’s hands and took his own handful, if only to spite him. “I was more into the fucking guy with the English Bulldog and his dad. They knew what they were getting themselves into.”

Eric huffed, glancing back to Kyle as they both took a left down the street towards their houses. “What, that Aussie asshole? Figures you’d be into the animal lover.”

Groaning, Kyle shoved the bag back into Eric’s hands as he upped his pace. “What can I say, I have a type.”

“You sure do, and look where those types get you.” Eric jabbed, stuffing the rolled up bag of popcorn in his coat pocket as they continued down the road.

“Thanks, I really needed that right now.” Kyle pursed his lips in contempt.

“You’re welcome!” Eric called out to him in jest. “It’s about time you and me face facts and change our taste in… men or women, or whatever.”

“Men,” answered Kyle.

Eric kicked a can into the street, “Yeah, maybe for you.”

Kyle suddenly stopped in his tracks and turned on his heel. Eric could tell by the stern look on his face that he was about to get a mouth full.

“Cartman,” Kyle began slowly, peering down at his feet before getting to his point. “You know you didn’t _really_ have to pay for my ticket, right? See, it’s shit like this that makes me think that you’re _actually_ into me.”

Eric was taken aback, not expecting a confrontation like this at all. He actually found it quite hilarious, or rather; if he weren’t laughing about it, he’d probably be sweating. “Someone’s a bit presumptuous! You know, maybe when I said “get you to like me” back in the bus, I meant as _friends_ , okay?”

“Well you know how I feel about that, so you should just stop.” Kyle continued his rant, pulling his hands out of his pockets before crossing his arms in a defensive stance. “Also I know you like me more than just a friend because remember that night when you came into my room? When I felt your-”

“Stop, okay?” Eric interrupted, knowing exactly where Kyle was taking this conversation and instead rushed by him on their way towards the houses. “That had nothing to do with what was going on.”

“Yes it was!” Kyle argued, following him down the sidewalk in a hurry. “Don’t try to fucking skirt around it!”

Eric turned around to face Kyle again as a passing car flashed its headlights at them. “Why are you so fucking fixated on this anyway? Now you’re weirding _me_ out!”

“Because I can’t figure out what the fuck is going on with you!” Kyle shouted before colliding into him and shoving him into the nearest evergreen. “First you’re up to your old shit, scheming and coming on to me WAY too strongly, and today you’re acting like the fucking world’s about to end and you’re just along for the fucking ride; like you’ve got nothing to hide anymore - except for the fact you like me, which you might as well just come out and say!”

There were pine needles sticking out of every nook and cranny of Eric’s coat, but the frustration exuding from Kyle’s flustered face made it all worthwhile. Plucking a pinecone from a nearby branch, he chucked it playfully at Kyle’s hair and shot back, “Nah, it’ll be fun to crush your hopes and dreams.”

Kyle tried to duck out of the way, but the pinecone still caught onto one of his curls and got itself tangled in his hair.

Eric broke out in laughter, watching in delight as Kyle slowly tugged it out.

Once he finally untangled it, Kyle chucked it back at Eric’s face and snapped, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

The cone hit Eric square on his forehead. “Ow! You’re the one who keeps bringing it up!”

“Well I still can’t tell if this honesty bullshit is part of your plan or not!” Kyle exclaimed, fixing his hair by raking his lithe fingers through his thicket of messy curls.

Eric caught himself gawking before shaking his head and turning away from the sight. “I already told you, the plan’s dead.”

Yet he couldn’t help but take a second glance, and when he did, Kyle undoubtedly caught him in his mesmerized gaze.

Coughing, Eric tried to save face by asking him, “Regardless, did you or did you not enjoy yourself tonight?”

Kyle eyed him curiously, and after a moment or two of reflection, he smiled at him with his signature know-it-all look that he gives whenever he figures something out in that ridiculous head of his. “I don’t know if I’d go so far to say ‘enjoy’, but I guess it was a healthy enough distraction from my recent state of affairs.”

“Yeah, and I’m pretty sure that was the whole point.” Eric concurred and joined Kyle’s side again. “Now it’s back to reality.”

“You still haven’t told me what’s going on with you.” Kyle spoke up.

Eric frowned. “I figured you didn’t give a fuck about my life.”

“You’re right, I don’t - but I can’t help my curiosity.” Kyle stretched his arms out in front of him and cricked his back. “Now I’m starting to think you made it all up so that you had an excuse to throw me off your trail.”

Tilting his head up, Eric noticed that they were about to pass their bus stop. That little clearing in the trees had been their meeting place every school day since first grade, and Eric knew that if he fucked up in Nebraska? He might never see it again – along with a certain redhead.

When that realization dawned upon him, he shoved his own hands in his pockets and exhaled a jagged breath. “Starting tonight at midnight, I have to fly back to my Grandparents’ place in Imperial every weekend and do something I really don’t want to do.”

Kyle came to an abrupt halt, obviously not expecting something that drastic. “What, are you serious?”

“Yup, I only found out a couple days ago. There’s a real possibility that I could be moving away from here for good – which is awesome for you right? You’ll be finally rid of me!” Eric cheered in jest.

“Yeah… that sucks for you though. What does your mom think?” Kyle took a reluctant step forward as they resumed their slow walk home.

Eric matched Kyle’s pace and gazed blankly at the starry sky. “She has nothing to do with it, but yeah she’s not too happy about it either.”

“What do you have to do?” asked Kyle.

Shutting his eyes closed, Eric dwelled on that question for a moment or two before chuckling to himself in contempt. “Something stupid, it’s really not even that big of a deal –which is why it sucks!”

He opened his eyes again, returning his attention back to Kyle. “But yeah, that’s why I did this 180. I mean, I might as well - it’s not like I have much time left here anyway.”

“So you’re just going to go along with it?” Kyle questioned, incredulously. “That’s not like you, what’s the catch here?”

Eric let out a hum of disapproval and intentionally bumped into Kyle as they turned a corner. “I’ll cut you a deal – I won’t bring up your homo relationship with Stan anymore if you don’t bring up anything that has to do with me going to Imperial.”

“Who says there _will_ be another time where you can bring it up?” Kyle jeered and hopped back onto the sidewalk to deliver his own push. “Tonight was okay, but it wasn’t spectacular by any means.”

Once Eric regained his balance, he flipped Kyle’s hood up over his head knowing full well he’d have to fix that hair of his again. “Oh, so you were expecting me to dazzle you tonight?”

Kyle cursed under his breath before inevitably freeing his mop of curls. “To tell you the truth, the only reason I agreed to this outing in the first place was because I wholly expected to throw my drink at you halfway through the movie and storm out of the theatre. That didn’t happen, so I don’t know if I felt ‘dazzled’, but I guess I was impressed that you didn’t try to pull anything on me.”

Eric felt an odd sense of pride surge through him. “Well I’m happy I was up to par, Mr. Broflovski. Shall I offer you my coat and escort you to your door?”

“We’re going in that direction.”

“So you want my coat?”

“It probably smells like a combination of Fritos and a sweaty ballsack, so I’ll pass.”

“It’s called Febreeze, asshole. Didn’t you and Stan use it on your bed to cover up the ass and come smell?”

“Hey!” Kyle whirled around and shoved a finger in Eric’s face. “Whatever happened to that deal?”

“So you’re saying there will be another time?” Eric lit up, not able to hide the anticipation in his voice.

Kyle stopped to linger by the street corner, leaning against a telephone pole in quite contemplation before speaking up.

“When are you moving?”

“Apparently at the end of the semester.” Eric answered anxiously.

Kyle nodded soundly and headed down his street, leaving Eric standing by himself. “I think we can hang out again then, considering you’ll be gone for good in a couple months. Might as well get all my insults in before I can finally wash my hands of you.”

“Likewise.” Eric called out to him, exhaling a longing breath before turning towards his own street.

“What was your plan, really?” Kyle’s voice sounded out one last time.

Eric faltered, gazing down the road at the halo of curls reflecting off the neighboring house’s floodlight.

Feeling something curdle deep within, he gritted his teeth and barked back, “You’re the smart one, Kyle. Figure it out!”

Dashing away, Eric forced himself to not look back. His bags were already packed, his flight was already set to leave, and his uncle’s plans were already set in motion. There was no time to reconsider; it was go-time.

When midnight came, Eric reluctantly dragged both his and his uncle’s luggage to the car. Liane watched helplessly from the front door, saying her silent goodbyes and only stepping aside once his Uncle Howard appeared behind her.

“Hold on! Not so fast there, Eric. We’ve still got this to throw in.”

Eric opened the trunk and haphazardly tossed in both suitcases, but just as he was about to reach out to grab whatever his uncle was handing him, his blood ran cold.

From the corner of his eye, he could spot someone quickly approaching his driveway from the other side of the street - someone who should never be in the same vicinity as his crazy-ass, homicidal Uncle. 

“STOP!” Eric shouted in horror, hoping that would deter him from approaching any closer.

By the grace of God, his warning seemed to have worked. But then he heard his Uncle perk up from behind the trunk in concern, “What? What’s wrong?”

Bolting from behind the car, Eric maintained eye contact with his uncle so that he couldn’t spot the other boy standing only a short distance behind them. “There’s no more room back here, we’ll have to throw it in the backseat.”

“Oh, okay. That’s fine.” Howard huffed, handing him what appeared to be a garment bag before circling around to the drivers seat. “Damn, boy. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Yeah well, we don’t want anything smushed.” Eric retorted and shot the other boy a grave look.

Upon tossing the bag in the back seat, he suddenly heard something heavy and metallic clank on the pavement below, but whatever it was, it wasn’t as important as getting the fuck out of there as soon as possible.

“Careful with that thing! It's priceless!” His Uncle shouted and started up the car. “Now lets get a move on. We only have an hour to get to Central Colorado Regional.”

To his utmost gratitude, Howard was a piss-poor driver and didn’t look out any of his mirrors upon exiting the driveway. Eric did look, however, and as they pulled away from his house, he watched Kyle walk up his driveway and pick up whatever metal-something had fallen out of the garment bag.

Curious as to what it could have been, Eric reached back over the median and grabbed a hold of the bag in the back. Pulling it onto his lap, he hastily unzipped the front until he saw something shimmer at him - silver buttons on black wool.

His heart stopped. Eric had only seen these buttons and medals on online forums and in his dreams, but even then, he had an inkling as to what he was looking at.

With bated breath, he peeked under the right side of the garment bag until he could spot the color he was looking for, and to his utter disbelief, he saw red. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to both my lovely RP Partner PrincessBelle212 and Lethargy for being my betas and helping me edit this whole story! Also, big thanks to TerryxRage who has graciously corrected my German text!


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